


To Take a Tree From the Forest

by Carleen



Series: Tales From the Hold [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Brynjolf - Freeform, Byrnjolf romance, Delvin Mallory - Freeform, Dragonborn - Freeform, Dragonborn Romance, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - Freeform, Family Relationship - Freeform, Gen, Ingun Black-Briar - Freeform, Maven Black-Briar - Freeform, Multi, Skyrim - Freeform, Skyrim Romance, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carleen/pseuds/Carleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brynjolf holds a secret he must keep if he's to save the thing most precious to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dragon and the Tree

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.viking-mythology.com/yggdrasil.

* * *

"He that steals a cow from a poor widow, or a stirk from a cottar, is a thief; he that lifts a drove from a Sassenach laird, is a gentleman-drover. And, besides, to take a tree from the forest, a salmon from the river, a deer from the hill, or a cow from a Lowland strath, is what no Highlander need ever think shame upon." - Sir Walter Scott. Evan Dhu Maccombich to Edward, ch. 18

* * *

Fog creeps in on silent feet behind the morning sun rising over the lake outside the city of Riften. Scarcely large enough to earn the name city, half of Riften perches on wooden stilts over the south-west corner of Lake Honrich. The other half clings to a narrow piece of shoreline. A grand lady in her day. She's lost most of her original gilt since those easy golden days of wealth and commerce. Those days are long gone and now there's naught but a small fishery, a brewery and a few merchants who stubbornly cling to the belief there's a fortune to be made here. The guards claim you can smell her a league before you ever see the gates. Like an old whore, she smells of fish, old fires, and sewage. Inside the gates, the smell thickens and clings to the ground as the fog continues to rise off the stagnant water. Most days you have to go outside the gates just to catch a breath of fresh air.

Outside the walls, birds swoop and dive through the wraithlike fog, feeding on the water bugs floating on the calm surface. Slaughterfish hover close by hoping to catch a bird lingering too long over the water.

Deep in the trees a bear growls menacingly as a spider attacks her. With her thick coat, the bear can easily survive the spider's poison. The spider cannot survive the six-inch canines the bear embeds in her fragile neck. She dies instantly, her exoskeleton crushed. The bear shakes her head once and tosses the creature aside. For a long moment, the bear watches the wolves move in to feast on the unexpected bonus of a spider meal. She decides the boney half-starved wolves are not worth her time. Her growing cubs require better fare so she moves on.

The sow huffs quietly into the frosty morning. Two furry heads with bright inquisitive eyes dash and scramble to their mother's side. When the little family is together, the sow leads them to the shore to wash away the poison and drink from the clear shallow water.

While her cubs play in the water, she watches the surface for movement. Her patience is rewarded when a slaughterfish enters the shallow water in search of easy prey. With a swipe of one massive paw, she expertly snags it from the water. It lands near her cubs, squirming angrily, with its horrible mouth gapping for something to breathe. In practice, as much as for the fun of it, they quickly pounce on the fish, growling and snarling fiercely. Under their mother's watchful eye, they quickly settle in for breakfast.

Inside the walls of Riften, her small population is slowly waking to the new day. While under her city streets, hidden somewhere deep within the dark and twisted corridors of the Rat Warrens, the Thieves Guild holds court. Well-protected within their lair The Guild does not worry about anyone stumbling into their hideout. For no one who has ventured into the tunnels has ever returned to tell the tale.

Only spoken of in hushed voices from behind empty tankards, the townspeople gossip The Guild enjoys protection by those with enough coin in their pockets to make sure it stays that way. The Thieves Guild and Rat Warrens. The best kept secret that everyone knows about.

While the morning sun begins to send burning fingers into the choking miasma, the city begins to wake up. Hidden from prying eyes, under Mara's Temple, Brynjolf steps out of the underground headquarters and takes a deep breath of sweet Riften air. Still in his prime, the massively built man, with bright auburn hair stretches his arms above his head. He reflects on how much he loves this city. It has done right by him and he makes a good living here.

Although it's not a story he will ever share with you, he wandered into Riften many years ago. Barely old enough to hold a dagger in his hand, Mercer Fray took him in and without a second thought tossed the stray into the midst of his men.

With their gruff uneducated ways, they raised the bright little boy with a heavy hand and unsympathetic words. They taught him about thieving, women, the ways of the world, and how to survive. Therefore, when he claims he's good at what he does, you'll know it's not just hubris talking. Riften is his home and his business. Although he would not hesitate to make a coin or two off them, he would defend her citizens with his life.

Except for the merchants and the occasional adventurer most of Riften's small population never leave the city. Too many reasons to stay close to their belongings, businesses, and families. When they think no one can overhear the shopkeepers complain to travelers that it's the Thieves Guild's fault. If only someone would do something about them the city would flower again.

The fact is everyone in this town has a hand in their neighbor's pocket. Everyone makes a little coin on the side. Everyone has a stake in keeping things just as they are. It's the way things work here in Riften. Brynjolf should know, because he's a master thief, second in command of the Thieves Guild and Mercer Frey's right hand man.

After carding his fingers through his long hair to pull it back from his face. He laces up his leather shirt and searches with sharp eyes for the Talos priestess, Nura Snow-Shod. Then he sees golden robes against the backdrop of the dark stone walls. Almost ghostly, she holds a bottle of ale and a heel of bread. He moves toward her while the fog breaks and eddies over his muscular stride.

Before he wishes her good morning and says his prayers, he begins their morning routine by sliding his arms around her still-trim waist.

"When are you gonna let me see what's under that dusty old robe?"

Instead of the accustomed scolding, she surprises him by leaning back in his arms. It's a nice change and he savors the moment by holding her for as long as she'll allow. Then she doesn't let him down and responds with her usual smart comment. Brynjolf covers her chilled hands with his, and grins into the rough fabric of her hood. He loves a sassy woman.

"When Ulfric is on the throne, Bryn. That's when."

Bending his head to tickle her cheek with his beard, he whispers, "Careful what you wish for, lass. My spies tell me some whelp they're calling the Dragonborn sided with Ulfric."

She responded with wide eyes and Brynjolf laughed at her blushing cheeks. He flirts with all the girls in Riften, especially the pretty ones. Flirting is as natural to him as swordplay or coupling.

Nura is also one of the good people in this city and deserves a bit of good news. The war brought her nothing but loss and grief. The White-Gold Concordat forbids Talos worship. She must hide behind buildings next to the graveyard to keep a shrine for his followers. She lost a daughter in the war and husband to drink at the hands of those damn Imperials. Their two sons are nothing but milk-drinking, social climbers. While Brynjolf has little use for the rest of her family, Nura has sass and courage, so he watches out for her.

Brynjolf notices her mouth turn down and a line furrow on the bridge of her nose.

"Today's the day, Bryn. Are you all right? I can hardly believe it was ten years ago."

"Today?" The thief looks down at her in confusion and then it all comes back like the shock of an unexpected blow. Only a few folk know what today is and he counts them on one hand. Then Brynjolf swallows hard, works up a smile for her, and kisses her cheek.

"I'm fine. Just fine. You know me, lass." He doesn't want to talk about it, even with her. The remembering is hard enough.

After taking his leave of Nura, he heads toward the Bee and Barb for a tankard of mead and a bit of bread and cheese. The inn is a good place to judge the mood of the town and hear the news. A couple of the merchants greet him as he walks past their stalls. His thoughts are deep and centered on what Nura said, so he doesn't respond. He must work hard to keep the memory in perspective and go about his usual business. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it then and even less a decade later.

A shout and the flesh on flesh sound of a slap travels through the fog to the market. The noise draws everyone's attention toward the orphanage. A child's scream echoes across the square and bounces off the surrounding buildings. Grelod the Kind is dragging a child from the Hall to hand over to a pair of Orcs. Brynjolf strokes his fingers over his short beard. Orcs? He's got nothing against Orcs. They make great fighters. Parents? When was the last time you even saw an Orc bairn?

The blacksmith stops work and holds his hammer up where the old bitch can see it. Grelod thrusts the terrified child into the Orc's arms. Then she dusts off her hands, spits at the crowd, and slams the orphanage door closed. A Minger, that one. A real four pinter.

It's over in just a few minutes, and it's not something they haven't seen before. Today is different. This is the memory, which haunts Brynjolf's sleep. His heart hammers against his leather tunic so hard he fancies he can almost see it. Cold sweat glues his hands into fists. Some days, all he has to do is look at the front door of the Honor Hall Orphanage and he's back to that morning ten years ago. Ten years ago today when he heard a young girl crying, 'Da! Da! Help Me!'

Plenty of children left the orphanage smiling, hand in hand with their new parents. Other children got spooked. These sounds were no different from the usual cries of a reluctant child. On that morning, just like this morning, he pauses to join the market crowd looking in that direction.

A blond head is visible through the crowd. He watched the small child looking over the crowd, until he realized the screaming child struggling between her new parents is his daughter. Her blond hair came loose from its braid as she tried to escape the Imperials. He was not a man who panicked or showed much emotion, but that day turned his blood thin and cold. How had this happened? Why had the old crone reneged on their agreement?

Nearly knocking one of the merchants off his feet pushing his way through the crowd. When she caught sight of him, she jerked her hands away from the couple and aimed herself at her father. By then he was close enough to catch her. Lifting her high in the air, for the moment she is safe. No one would dare try to take her out of his arms. Not many people knew that little girl is his daughter. Delvin and Nura knew, but not even Mercer Frey knew about his daughter. Brynjolf had other reasons not to trust Frey, but that's another story.

Unless he got her quieted down, the entire town will learn the identity of this little girl. He whispered against her cheek. "Listen to me, Vika. You know the rules. You can't call me yer Da."

She placed her small hands on either side of his face, "I know… I don't want to go. Please, you promised." A sob shook her small body. Pulling her close he muffled his voice against her bright hair.

"I love you, lass. Always. You must forget all about your old Da now. Forget about this place and… By the Divines, little one. I am sorry."

His voice betrays his emotions and for now, he must be silent. Numb with grief, he holds her just a moment longer before handing her over to the couple. With the entire town watching, he can neither give in to his grief nor stop what is happening.

She's a brave girl and knows the danger of anyone connecting her to Brynjolf. To her credit, she sniffed back her tears and calmly allowed her father to hand her back to the couple. Then she turned and watched Brynjolf over her new father's shoulder as they walked away.

In the long, lonely years to come that look stays with him and haunts his dreams. If it is hatred or anger, he will never know. In the space of a few steps, the little girl took on her father's shield. She is too damn young to carry such a shield, to learn to hide her emotions or stop herself from crying out for her father. She manages it and as he watched the tears dry on her face, he told himself this was for the best. What does he, after all, have to give her? A life of crime in a dingy city on a stagnant lake.

There are some days the shield is too heavy for him to carry. Today, the weight of it breaks his heart, because the reason for his very existence just walked away. He loses sight of her as they round the corner of the Bee and Barb. Then the sound of the gates opening and closing slices through him leaving a wound that never heals. Just before the horrible silence of her loss begins, he hears her voice echo down the boardwalk.

"Please!"

It was the last time he ever saw his little girl, his brave Vika.

The memory drags him down into the sad and guilty place where he misses his daughter and wonders what happened to her. Is she well? Have those Imperials seen to her education and taught her how to carry herself like a proper lady. To believe they have is the only way he can endure her loss.

Nura offered to take her in, but the danger of the Black-Briar family finding out about a grandchild was too great. Brynjolf might have business dealings with Maven Black Briar, but he'd never allow her to sink her greedy claws into his daughter. Maven Black Briar had a well-known habit of using people until they were no longer worth anything and then they disappeared.

Keerava, the bartender at the Bee and Barb watched Brynjolf enter the tavern. The bent of his shoulders and the look on his face told her much. Although she never told a soul, she also knew what today represented to the thief. She generously topped a tankard of her best Black-Briar from the tap and pushed it in front of him. She watched him take a long pull and close his eyes to let the mead seep into his blood. He wished the drink might wash the old memories away in a flood of honey and alcohol. It never worked.

A plate of bread, cheese and a generous slice of horker meat appeared in front of him.

"You're the best, Keerava. Can I bring you something? Something sweet for the sweetest innkeeper in Skyrim?"

"Never you mind, Brynjolf. I have enough to do around here without you flirting with me too. Save it for the young ladies, they always seem to fall for your charms. By the way, have you heard about the newest adventurer in town?"

Between mouthfuls of bread, he laughed aloud at her conspiratorial expression and felt the dark mood lifting. Their banter always helped chase the ghosts away and her wry humor made him smile.

"You're always good for a rumor or two. Tell me, is it this legendary dragon slayer, like we've heard?"

Keerava leaned even closer, "Some say so. With all this talk of dragons," she shook her head, "But I think it's just that; a lot of talk. I'll believe it when I see it. Well, well, here comes the lady in question now."

He followed the Argonian's gaze by turning his head toward the stairs. With the racket she's making on the stairs, all eyes are on her when she rounds the corner into the room. Clad in a pair of ill-fitting leather pants and shirt, she raises her eyes to the curious crowd.

Brynjolf watches a slow blush creep across her cheeks. When she turns to find a quiet table, he also notices the old rusty iron sword clinging precariously to her back with worn leather straps. An equally well-aged leather shield bangs against her leg as she walks.

Because no one travels through Riften that he doesn't know about. He takes her measure as she crossed the room and sits down at an empty table. She's not as young as he first figured and notes the woman's curves pressing against the stained leather. Under the shabby clothes and smudged face is a pretty girl with a knot of reddish-gold hair hanging down her back and a pair of Nordic — as the locals call them — blue eyes.

The hollowed out cheeks and darting eyes told another story. Where had this sprite of a girl come from? Where is she headed?

Another guild member named Sapphire rolled her eyes at him from her position by the door. He couldn't disagree with his sister-thief's assessment. How'd this young pup slip out of her kennel?

Then he watched her pull a bit of cloth from her pocket. A small bite of cheese lay in its center. When the waiter asked her what she wanted to drink, she handed him a coin and asked for just a small sip of mead.

Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief. This girl was easy pickings for the likes of Vex or Sapphire. Too easy.

Without questioning his sudden generosity, Brynjolf slips Keerava a handful of coin, "Get her a bit of bread and good cheese." Then he added, "And an apple dumpling. She won't be lifting that sword to defend herself on such a meager diet."

Once the meal is delivered to her table, Brynjolf moved to join her and placed two red apples next to her plate.

"Good morning, lass. Aren't you a wee bit far from your hearth?"

"I can take care of myself," she assured him through a mouthful of dumpling.

"Aye, I can see that with your starved eyes and ragged garb. You're a match for troll and necromancer alike."

She shot him a glance, the look in her eyes spoke to him of courage. It changed his first opinion of her. She looked at him as if he'd insulted her. Which, he reckoned he had just insulted her. But he wanted to test her mettle.

"I earned the money for these. And, by the way, this is armor."

With a temper to match. Excellent. Could she control it when she needed to? Could she actually lift that sword on her back? How far could that look in her eye take her?

There is only one-way to find out, "Interested in making a few more coins? You would earn enough in a few minutes work than you could in a whole day of hard labor." He had her attention now. Good. "Enough to get a proper kit for yourself."

She weighed his words under the guise of finishing her meal. After wiping her hands, she folded the napkin and aimed another sharp questioning look in his direction.

"What do you have in mind?"

~oOo~

viking-mythology dot com / yggdrasil

Sassenach, The Gaelic term for a Saxon. Survives in modern day Ireland and Scotland as a derogatory term for an English person.

Minger, Someone who was not just touched by the ugly stick at birth, but battered severely with it. Anyone who does not look better to you after several strong alcoholic drinks probably fit this category. Also, a woman who transmits STD or is in general dirty and unkempt.


	2. A Two Edged Sword

* * *

 "The foolish man lies awake all night thinking of his many problems. When the morning comes he is worn out, and his trouble is just as it was."  —Hávamál: 23

* * *

When his body began to acknowledge the pretty face, clear skin, and ice blue eyes, the self-assured thief almost missed her question. As his blood heats, he begins to see a woman staring at him so intently from the face of a young girl. He shifts in the chair and reminds himself this is a business deal, and business always comes first.

"I asked what do you have in mind?"

She's got those eyes pinned on him now, and he must force the answer out over the other ideas clouding up his thoughts. What is in his mind does not bear repeating in a public place. He also becomes aware of tavern customers watching them. It's usually good entertainment to watch Brynjolf work another rube and so the general conversation has quieted.

"Come on outside and we'll talk." He says quietly and tosses a glare in the direction of Keerava. She just grins and waves her bar towel at him.

With his hand lightly placed on her arm, he counts on her youth and respect for authority to obey his request. And there's something in a man who wants to keep a pretty girl all to himself.

He's looking for a quiet place to talk. You wouldn't think that would be too difficult. Unless everyone in town knows you and can't wait to see who your next mark is...as long as it's not them...it's suddenly a problem. With an eye on anyone following, Brynjolf kept her walking until they are concealed behind the houses in the grassy area.

Brynjolf looks down at the long unkempt grass and remembers a long ago summer when he'd caught a snake in this same spot he's standing in now. While the other boys were busy making plans for the frightened creature, one wanted to pit it against a skeever, another wanted to slit it open. Septims changed hands while Brynjolf held the writhing thing gently in his hands until it lost its fear of him and lay still.

His inquisitive mind noted the mottled texture and unexpectedly cool feel of its skin. He ran his fingers lightly over the repetitive pattern on its back. He knew birds and fish could disappear into their surroundings and he wondered if this pattern served the snake the same way. While the other boys argued over its fate, Brynjolf quietly released the snake into the graveyard.

She's watching him expectantly when he finally turns to her. _Shor's Stone._ She's caught him daydreaming. With a firm grip on his thoughts, Brynjolf shoved his hands in his pockets.

"It's a straight business deal. I need to teach Madesi a lesson about respect and paying his debts."

The rising sun broke over the clutch of wooden buildings and suddenly she stood in a single ray of sunshine. As ethereal, as if she were a fairy straight from the forest or a messenger from Sovngarde. What? He shakes his head to clear it. He's waxing poetical. Perhaps he's been touched with some strange spell. The moment shatters when she begins to speak, jarring his attention yet again. It's a rare person who tells Brynjolf no.

"No," she says simply and in conversational tones. "These people have been nice to me. And I promised Brand-shei I'd try to find out about his parents."

She's still shaking her head when the thief drops a gold coin in her hand.

"How far do you think you'll get in that leather get-up and a dull blade, Lass? Winter is already adding a bit of frost to the morning air. You'll need fur boots and gloves soon. And how long do you think your money will last at ten a night for a bed?"

She lifted her chin, impudently flipped the coin back, and tried to stare him down. "I sleep in caves, and I make do. I'm saving up for a horse and better armor."

"You sleep in caves, do you? With the trolls, cave bears and vampires? You're braver than you give out, lass." He noticed her skin go pale, and her eyes go wide at the mention of vampires.

Now he had her attention. Everyone is afraid of something. Then Brynjolf turned his smile on her. The smile no female this side of Whiterun could resist. Or, so he told himself. Gallantly, like a suitor on a Sunday stroll, he pulled her arm through his. He walked her carefully through the fragrant grass. She wasn't buying any of it.

"I'd rather sleep in a cave than a sewer..." The girl stopped in her tracks. "I heard all Talos worship was banned in Skyrim. May I...?"

And before he could stop her or even ask her why she was interested, she was holding out her hands and asking for a blessing.

Nura watched her with a pleased smile. When the girl finished, Nura took her hand. "Blessings of Talos upon you." Then she cocked her head to the side and peered into the girl's face. "What's your name, child?"

"Sabrinda Menanius, priestess."

"And what's a girl with such a fine Imperial name doing at a Talos Shrine?"

"What's this?" Brynjolf stepped up behind the girl. Ready to defend her or… Why hadn't he asked for her name before now?

"I'm sorry. I'm new here. It seemed the right thing to do."

Brynjolf's hands landed protectively on her shoulders. "It's all right, lass. You just startled us was all. You do stand out a bit in that old armor and way of speaking. And you didn't learn those table manners in Skyrim. So where are you from?"

"I'd rather not say. Look, you've been very kind to me, Sirrah. I give you my word I'll pay you back for the food."

"Sirrah, is it? Of all the... Look here little girl. No one calls me..." Unfortunately, that came out in a shout, and the girl began to back away. Not in fear, he noticed, but with a look of amusement.

"Good day and thank you, priestess." Then, with a quick nod, she turned and left Brynjolf and Nura alone in the chilly dew-drenched grass. Behind the bewildered master thief, Nura is chuckling.

"What are you laughing at?"

"She's not afraid of you, Bryn. How refreshing. Looks as if you met your match, Sirrah." She covered her face with her hand to cover the grin. "Now, just where are you going?"

"She's naught but a girl," he explained, spreading his hands, palms up. "I'll follow her and make sure she stays out of mischief."

"Aye, you do that."

She's mocking him! Damn cheeky women. Vex, Sapphire, Tonilia and Nura, gave him more sass and back talk then all the men put together. Now, this little girl's got him to chase after her.

Nura poked her finger into his chest to punctuate her words. "You do that and remember two things, Brynjolf. She is just a girl, and you stay out of mischief."

Now he's talked himself into this adventure he hardly hears Nura's warning and stops questioning whether she can take care of herself. As Brynjolf hurries to the Guild's hideout to gather traveling gear he deliberately overlooks his own reasons for going, or why he's up and leaving his business interests, or if she's even worth chasing after. He will leave all that to Nura's wisdom.

With his pack on his shoulder, Brynjolf ignores the shouts from the townspeople. He's not about to explain it to them. Mercer Frey's laughter still rings in his ears. One of the town guards in his employ opens the gate for him with a bow and a flourish.

"Don't you bloody well say a word," Brynjolf snarls at him. The guard nods and closes the gate behind him. The day is fine and once he's outside the gate, his mood lifts. How long has it been since he's had a proper adventure. The stable worker peels himself off the post at the sight of Brynjolf's approach. What in the Nine Divines could he want with them? Then he's thoroughly confused when Brynjolf greets him with a cheerful good morning.

After tossing the stable master enough gold to buy two horses, he mounts one and leads the other. It feels good to be moving. The horse responds to his control and he kicks the beast into an easy canter as he heads down around the back of the stable to the lake. Her trail is easy to follow on the wet ground as she heads northeast along the shoreline of Lake Honrich.

Brynjolf catches up with her on the north edge of the lake. Apparently, she hadn't known about Golden Glow Estate and stumbled onto the property. He watches from cover as two of Maven Black-Briar's mercs are plinking arrows at her as she runs for cover behind some rocks.

To avoid being seen, he turned the horses into the woods. Once out of sight, he moves as quickly as possible to her side. Before he could properly dismount and string his bow, she took aim and let loose an arrow. It flew straight and true across the lake. In the distance, one of the mercs drops in his tracks. The sound of his scream took only a second longer to reach the astonished Brynjolf.

"Who taught you to shoot, lass?" He asked as he jumped down from the horse prepared to defend her.

"What you really mean to ask is what man taught me to shoot?

"Well, that would be the normal way of it."

"Nothing is normal for me. I taught myself. I'm hoping my next bow will be a hunting bow or a maybe a crossbow. I heard those who join the Dawnguards get one.

"Slow to arm, but deadly when you have the time."

She nodded in agreement. "A few more jobs and I'll get a steel bow. Maybe get rid of this old rusty sword at the same time."

Then, as if she suddenly realized who was standing there and what she had just revealed, "What are you doing here?"

The answer stood before him. A fearless young lady standing tall and shining against the gray rocks. There's a challenge in her eyes and a flush on her cheeks. Strong nimble fingers secure her weapon. He reaches up, without conscious thought, to touch the smooth cheek with a fingertip.

As you might imagine, Brynjolf has enjoyed his share of the ladies. They always fell quickly under the spell of a pretty bauble or a friendly smile. But as he watches her, he realizes it's been a while since he'd felt this way.

This, he reminds himself, is not the usual Riften barmaid or giggling farm girl. Nor was she something to steal or barter for. There's a mysterious air about her and a story ripe for the telling. Obviously, she hadn't starved. You didn't grow so tall and strong on bad food and watered down ale. She could handle a bow, but her hands were still smooth and fine. Yet, he could plainly see the cracked blisters on her palms.

"You're a handsome lass." He added another finger to her cheek. "If you don't mind my asking. How did a pretty Nord girl like you end up so far from home with such a grand Imperial name?"

For a long second she didn't flinch away from his touch. You had to gentle these high-spirited girls same as a green horse. Mistakenly emboldened by the fact she doesn't move away, he takes a step closer.

"I do mind your asking," she replied, turning her head away from his touch. "I had to leave home. That's all there is to it. Look, I can take care of myself. You don't have to stay with me."

Now he's ignoring the set of her shoulders, and the fact that her hand rests on the hilt of her sword. If he knew her at all, he'd see the look in her eyes and would wisely take a step back. If he knew her at all, he would know she is not accustomed to being accosted by rough men with crude country manners. When she decides to tell him so, he interrupts her.

"I'm well aware of that, lass. But it seems I've taken a fancy to you."

Then, faster than he could say bedroll she'd drawn the sword and tucked the business end under his chin.

 _By the Nine,_ she's magnificent, he thought and grinned.

~oOo~


	3. The Shield Maiden Awakens

* * *

_I am a shield-maiden. I wear a helmet and ride to war with warrior kings. I must support them, and I am not averse to fighting._ —Brynhild, The Saga of the Volsungs

* * *

They took each other's measure across the length of her rusty iron sword. While he continued to grin at her, she maintained an air of authority. He watched her for any sign of weakness or wavering. She intended to intimidate him enough to get him to go away.

It's plain enough, at least she thinks so, that she can take care of herself. Exactly like learning to wield a sword or shoot a bow and arrow, she will learn this lesson. She acknowledges this is a good test of her abilities and resolves to prevail. If she's to survive out here, then she must learn to take care of herself.

The contest of wills went on so long the birds began to move back into the trees. But her sword arm is not as strong as her resolve. In time, it will be, but it is a lovely morning and his smile is pleasant. It's not as if he's really done anything to actually harm or threaten her. Unlike most people she's met, he is not bowed or aged beyond his years; his teeth are strong and white. His eyes are clear and looking directly into hers. She feels a blush creep across her skin. It prickles her skin as it moves across her cheeks. She blinks.

Her sword landed several feet away. Brynjolf spins her and before she can yell out, she's tucked against him with her back to his front. With his arms locked around her, he bends his head to her ear.

"Do you see an Amulet of Mara around my neck?" She snapped, struggling against the iron strength of his embrace. "I don't need your help or your attention!"

"Lass," he whispered and slowly loosened his grip. "You don't have the look of an adventurer about you. Most of us have a job, a merchant, alchemist, mage, or priestess. What are you?"

"What do you see?" She tried to stomp on his instep, but he easily dodged the attempt.

"I see a young girl who should be following her Ma around at the hearth or in the fields. Let me see you to your next destination. Do you even know what you're about, lass?"

"Let me go!"

"I mean you no harm. I have the horses, and I can see you there safely. Lass, this is no place for us to hide. We need to move."

She scanned the horizon. Didn't she know the danger could come from as close as the tree behind them. However, she couldn't see Faldar's Tooth from here. Brynjolf knew the bandits could easily see them.

While he watched her consider his offer, an idea formed in his mind. A plan and a good idea. She wouldn't work for him in town, but she might work out here. Especially, since she'd had a taste of those Black-Briar mercs. She's still as green as spring grass and he needed to see her in action first. The Maven Black-Briar estate could wait.

"You've no idea how to handle yourself out here, lass. You've put yourself between the bandits in Faldar's Tooth and the Goldenglow estate mercs. You've already met the mercs. It's only a matter of time before the bandits in the tower locate us. The sound of our voices carries across the water as it is."

We both heard the warning shout above us, "I told you to back off!" Then an arrow hissed between us and bit the ground at her feet. She didn't even flinch. What manner of girl is this? He wondered at her courage.

Taking advantage of the distraction, she spun away from him. She retrieved her sword, slammed it into its makeshift scabbard, and shouldered her pack.

"Whiterun," she says over her shoulder and mounts one of the horses. She glanced down with a question in her eyes.

Brynjolf is already throwing their supplies together and moving toward his horse.

"It's a long ride. Are you coming or not?" She pointed her mount's nose northwest along the shore and without looking back kicked the beast into a canter.

There's no hiding from them now. The bandits are finally awake and one of them sounded the alarm. In a hail of shouts and iron arrows, Brynjolf hauled him into the saddle and rode after her. Once she found the road, she urged the horse into a run. Only slowing for a moment to check a signpost.

At least he wouldn't have to follow her through the forest. She needed to slow down so he could watch and listen for the dangers lurking in the forest. Brynjolf urged his own horse to pick up the pace.

Wolves howled close by, their warning growls echoing through the trees. One of them leaps at the hindquarters of her galloping horse. Without a glance, she simply urged the horse to go faster. A wolf brave enough to challenge those churning hooves was hungry enough to keep trying. With a quick prayer to Talos that his horse wouldn't stumble, Brynjolf notched an arrow and drew back on the wolf.

It'd been a long time since he'd seen this much action. But the wolf went down in mid-stride; dead before it hit the ground. Lucky for them his brothers decided to move off.

Damn that girl!

The track became rough and broken as he chased her into the foothills. One misstep and her horse would go down and that's the end of it. He alternately cursed her foolhardiness and admired her excellent horsemanship throughout the two-hour ride. She'd have to stop soon. Skyrim horses are tough, but they're also smart enough to fight back and not put up with any nonsense from rough handling. He could only hope that when that dappled gray decided to stop, she didn't go flying over his head.

Brynjolf chased her all the way to the next town.

The folks of Ivarstead stopped and stared at the two riders as they careened onto main street. Dogs barked and gave chase. Children shouted and followed the dogs. The guards shouted warnings and one or two of them drew their swords. They swept passed the Inn and the place emptied.

Talos! That's all we need is to draw attention to ourselves, Brynjolf cursed again. They should just keep going, but his horse is winded. She's probably foundered hers. Damn her for riding so blindly through the forest roads. He'd seen two cave bears and a saber cat. The sound of a necromancer practicing his craft came to him as they swept up the trail.

Damn her!

She pulled the reins up sharply. The dappled gray slid to a halt and whinnied in protest. Any one of those creatures could have forced her horse down and taken her life. Brynjolf ran to her, tossing a coin to a nearby child.

"Walk these horses 'till they're cool, boy." The young boy cringed at Brynjolf's harsh words. Normally, he wouldn't have yelled at a child. Normally, he would have been polite, but his head is full of tearful blue eyes and bright hair and before he can stop himself, he's pulled her out of the saddle and into his arms.

"Lass!" Scared and angry, he had her trapped in his arms again. Angry at her foolishness and scared at how frightened he really was for her safety.

She struggled. "Release me! How dare you?"

"You could have gotten yourself killed at any point out there. Do you no' heed the dangers of the road?"

He pulled back. Her face was set in a look... of anger or hatred? He tried and failed not to shout into her face. "Is it beyond your ken that you cannae outrun whatever you don't want to face?"

"It worked didn't it? Run and keep on running. It always works." She shrugged herself away and headed off toward a farmer standing in a planted field.

"Where are you going?"

"Where do you think? To earn some coin to pay for my supper. I don't steal for a living. I work."

In complete frustration at her stubbornness, he rolled his eyes toward Sovngarde. A very strong urge to take her over his knee and give her the beating she deserved lost out over a more civil, "Lass, I can pay for your supper."

"I told you I won't be indebted to you anything," tossing the comment over her shoulder like a dare.

"Girl, come here now or I will pick you up and carry you to the Inn."

The fire and the food at the inn were friendlier than her company. He could not figure her out. More to the point, why did he care? Her table manners reflected her Imperial name. Her manner was an odd balance of haughty and unsure. Then he remembered her comment about running. What was she running from? Was anyone chasing her? Even her reticence made him suspicious. Yet, he cannot deny an interest in her story, her spirit, and her obvious courage.

After he paid for their supper, they headed outside to retrieve the horses. At the pace she set, they'd make it to Whiterun in less than the usual twelve hours.

They'd made a good distance from Ivarstead by the time it was too dark to ride. They made camp at the bottom of a valley in a secluded spot at the foot of a stone bridge. Brynjolf laid a fire while she saw to the horses.

The tired horses weren't giving her any trouble. Yet, she seemed uncomfortable with removing their saddles and staking them. How could such an excellent rider not know her way around the care of a horse? Brynjolf watched until even the exhausted horses grew tired of her fooling around and let their head's drop toward the ground and ears slack.

"Can I help, 'Brinda?"

"What did you call me?"

"I can't call you by your whole grand name, so 'Brinda it is. Do you need help with the horses?"

"Am I doing this wrong too?"

As gently as could manage, he replied, "The poor beasts have fallen asleep with their saddles still cinched, bridles buckled and they've had no proper drink of water."

She was angry now, although he was getting used to her temper. This time, she had tears in her voice. Whatever she was doing out in this great wide world, taking care of the horses was about to push her over the edge. Why?

"Here, Lass. I'll remove the tack, and you can take them down to the water's edge for a drink. I can see you plain from here; if anything shows up, we'll take care of him together. Now, off you go. Mind the horses on the slippery stones."

He kept his eyes on her while setting out a simple supper of chicken breasts, bread, red apples, and eidar cheese. Just as he was about to call her over, he noticed her lay her head on a horse's shoulder. Then the horse curled his neck around her, and he heard a sob.

Taking slow steps to avoid spooking her he walked up behind her and took the reins from her hand. This time he knew better than to try and touch her.

Pitching his voice low, he spoke quietly to her. "Wee lass, I'll see to the horses. You're worn out. There's food and then you can get some sleep."

He swore at the dark circles under her eyes and the vacant sadness. Where in the Nine Divines were her parents? Someone should be tucking this child in at night and keeping her safe. Safe from the wolves, the necromancers, and criminals, like him, who would prey on her innocence.

Later, after another silent meal. She unstrung their bows, gave her apple cores to the horses and crawled into the bedroll. Brynjolf watched her face through the flickering flames. She lay there staring up at the sky, with the shine of tears tearing at his heart.

When she began to speak, her voice was so quiet; he had to strain to hear.

"I-I woke up on a wagon dressed in rags. My pretty clothes gone. My pony… One of the men said we were bound for Helgen. He said, that I must have walked into the same Imperial ambush they had. But I don't remember anything. Another man, with blond hair was gagged. Later I heard someone call him Ulfric Stormcloak.

Another young man in the wagon named Ralof told me a Nord's last thoughts should be of home. That didn't make any sense until... Until we got there and noticed the Imperial soldiers and a chopping block. One of the prisoners tried to run. He was so scared. They… Those Imperials, they just shot him in the back… I never saw a dead man before."

"Lass, close your eyes and sleep."

"A dragon came. A dragon! Ralof helped me escape from Helgen and the dragon. I killed a man that day… I'd never held a weapon in my hand before that day."

He could not ignore her quiet sobbing. With as little movement as possible, he moved his bedroll next to hers. Although she kept her back to him, she allowed Brynjolf to place his arm around her. He tucked her against him in the curve of his long body.

He didn't question her comment about the dragon, because he'd heard the story too. What he hadn't known is that she'd been there in the wagon with Ulfric Stormcloak. Who, by all reports had escaped to Windhelm and was holding court there as Jarl. Was there a connection?

Those were his thoughts as their breathing evened out and they relaxed together.

Morning brought an aching back and the sound of a whetstone slithering along a blade. After he stretched out next to the fire, he sat up, with his back against a tree and watched her inspect her weapons. She took a whetstone to his sword and strung the bows. If what she said last night was true, who taught her to care for her weapons? After she finished with the bows and sword, he watched her wash her face and hands, then comb out her long red hair. For all her independence and mannish ways, she was a beauty.

With the weapons put away and her hair neatly braided, she gathered a small meal to break their fast.

Brynjolf quickly caught her hand and pulled her down next to him.

"You and I have some talking to do, lass."

After handing Brynjolf his breakfast, she sat down next to him by the fire. Inside the napkin, he found a hunk of braided bread, a red apple, and the remainder of the eidar cheese. In return, he opened a bottle of mead for her.

The sun hadn't risen above the rim of the valley. The gloom and the cold of the night still held them in its shadows.

"Good morning?" he spoke again, stoking the fire.

She still hadn't looked at him so she interrupted his attempt at an olive branch with a shy, "thank you, for last night."

"You're welcome, lass. You tell me whatever you're ready to say and we'll go from there. I want you to feel you can trust me."

After a small bit of cheese, followed by a sip of mead, she thoughtfully chewed her food while gathering herself to speak.

Brynjolf watched her closely and wondered how much truth he was about to hear. She was obviously planning her words.

"I promised a man in Riverwood I would let their Jarl know about the dragon attack."

"You could have told me that."

She looked at him, searching his face. "No, I couldn't. I didn't know if you were an Imperial or a Stormcloak."

"You still don't know."

"I'm aware of that. I decided you're not the kind of man who would take a side. It would be bad for business."

"Insulting me again, are you?" He said, trying and failing to make it sound like a jest.

"No, not like that. I..." She dusted the breadcrumbs off her hands and stood up. She covered her silence by gathering up the remains of their meal. The napkins were neatly folded and the apple cores went to the horses again. The empty bottles were rinsed and stored in a saddlebag. He would have tossed them in the river and he was suddenly glad he hadn't.

They didn't speak again until they'd struck camp and the horses saddled. She needed his help to get the saddle and bridle on her horse again. He wanted to ask her about the disparity in her riding skills and her lack of ability to tack up a horse, but he resisted. Brynjolf thought they'd come a long way since last night and she would tell him me in her own good time. This was plainly a troubled young woman. Was she a spy? He could not completely dismiss the idea. Perhaps her naiveté was just a cover.

She stopped his hands and his musings with a touch. "Would you teach me how to saddle a horse?"

"I'd be happy to, lass." Truthfully, he was delighted that she asked. Another step forward. "You want to put the bridle on first so you have control of the horse." He guided her hands with his own to show her how to hold the bridle in her right hand while she eased the bit into the horse's mouth with her left.

"Now will you tell me how a girl who rides as if she was born on a horse cannae manage this easy task?"

She ducked her head, obviously uncomfortable with revealing too much. "My parents wouldn't allow ‒ unseemly for a girl of my class ‒ never mind. Just show me, please?"

Silent again while he demonstrated the correct way to saddle a horse, she watched his movements closely. Then removed the saddle and bridle to let her try on her own. When she finished, he checked the cinch and complimented her on a job well done. Then for his second surprise of the morning, she wrapped her arms around his waist and mumbled her thanks into his chest.

Not even a mage or Brynjolf the master thief can stop time. To keep her there a moment more he would have given almost anything. The moment she felt his hands sliding around her, she quickly turned away and mounted her own horse.

"Lass," he whispered to his own horse, as he gathered the reins and swung himself up into the saddle. "What are you doing to me?"

~oOo~

Founder: en. Wikipedia wiki / Laminitis


	4. Hail the Earth, Mother of men, bring forth from heaven´s embrace

* * *

"Hail to the Day  
Hail His Sons  
Hail Night, and her daughter!  
Gaze on us  
with loving eyes  
and bring us victory.

Hail to the Gods  
and the Goddesses  
Hail the generous earth!  
Grant us wisdom  
and eloquent speech  
and healing all our lives."

Sigdrifa's Prayer and Song

* * *

If Skyrim were a country dominated by civil war, Brynjolf and Sabrinda were unaware of it as they rode quietly side by side through the early morning ice fog. The icy mist swirled and eddied around their horses legs. With the tundra muffled and shrouded in ice fog, the land seemed at peace.

Although, as anyone who knew Skyrim understood, a peaceful moment could shatter with the arrival of a troll, a bear, a pack of wolves, or an Imperial patrol. Unbelievable reports about dragons and vampires had surfaced. The towns buzzed with the news and the guards watched the skies. If a dragon attack could happen in Helgen, no one was safe. And, of course, the name Ulfric Stormcloak was on everyone's lips.

Their night together brought them a new level of trust. Simply enjoying the beautiful morning and pointing out things of interest as they rode along in companionable silence. As the mist burned away, the colourful landscape deepened in hue and came to life as the animals moved out to find their breakfast. The day grew warmer as the road turned toward Whiterun. They gave the horses a chance to stretch their legs along an even track of road.

At mid-morning, Brynjolf shared a slice of eider cheese with her. As they rode along he sliced off apple for her and they laughed as he tossed the bite to her and she caught it in her mouth. Sabrinda tossed a bite of cheese to Brynjolf. As she watched Brynjolf try to catch it, he almost fell out of the saddle.

"You will go hungry very quickly this way," she said, giving him a playful shove to right him in the saddle.

"You've a good eye, lass. Will you let me teach you a few things about taking care of yourself?"

Sabrinda brought her horse to a stop. "That shot you saw me make back in Riften." She shook her head and smirked up at him from under her lashes. "That was just luck."

"Ah, I see the way of it now. Your hands are still so smooth. I wondered…"

"Will you teach me? She asked cutting him off before he began asking questions again.

Brynjolf nodded and guided the horses to where they could stand in the shade and drink their fill at a stream's edge. After helping Sabrinda down, he retrieved their swords. He often used a matched set of daggers, but she wasn't quick enough for close quarter fighting yet, so he handed her the old iron sword. There was blood on her sword. At least she'd blooded the old rusted thing.

"Now, lass," he began as he unsheathed his own blade and backed away from her. "One of the reasons you'll want to practice is to build your strength. If your foe sees you falter, they will move in quickly to spill your blood. So follow me and do as I do. Keep your back straight and your knees soft. Ken the balance of the blade and how it moves from hand to hand as you swing it around your body."

For several moments, she watched Brynjolf move gracefully through a series of thrusts, parry and lunges. His blade whistled in the air as he swung the blade in precise arches over his head and around his body.

She followed Brynjolf's movements and soon she'd memorized the routine and flowed easily from one movement to the next. With each repetition, her limbs grew suppler and her movements more controlled. Brynjolf watched in admiration at her natural beauty and talent.

"You move like you were born for this, 'Brinda."

She shook her head at him and shrugged away his words. "I have a good teacher."

The pleasure of her compliment comforted and encouraged him. After he put the weapons away, he walked toward her. He only meant to thank her and return the compliment, but the sun sets her hair afire with its light and she looked so strong and sure. The need to touch her overrode all other thoughts. He wove his bare fingers into her hair and tilted her head up.

While she caught her breath, she remembered how handsome and powerful he looked as he demonstrated the movements to her. She'd enjoyed the exercise and the moment of friendship between them. And it felt good to be touched this way. A comforting hand, strong presence and a friendly smile. She decided for the moment to trust the touch and counted slowly to ten while she allowed her head to lean against his large warm hand.

"There's other things I could teach you, lass."

Every muscle in her body tensed and she flung her hands up as if to ward him off.

Then she spun away from him, shouting, "No!"

"Lass, I dinna mean… what do you think I meant?" Shor's stone, he swore. There is real fear in her eyes. "I wouldn't harm you. You have no need to fear me."

"I'm not afraid!" She shouted in a nearly hysterical tone. Then, as if to completely negate the entire episode, she said, over her shoulder, nearly running from him. "I want to wash up before we reach Whiterun. "Do I have to worry about my privacy?"

"No lass." He hadn't meant to frighten her. Everything was three steps forward and two steps back with her. "Go, I'll take care of the horses and get us packed up."

While Brynjolf gathered the horses and their provisions, she shot him a look and moved further downstream.

In spite of what some people think about Brynjolf's womanizing, he is a gentleman. He turned his back on her, but kept his ears open. While he waited the clouds moved in and snow flurries began to swirl through the air. The horses began to stamp and toss their heads. Skyrim horses enjoyed work and movement. They get restless if kept idle too long. He thought about what kind of horse she owned back home. Last night she'd mentioned a pony. It set him thinking…

A sharp north wind pushed the snowflakes through the camp. The remains of their small fire sizzled out.

"'Brinda? We need to get moving."

"I'm coming. I-I, Oh!" She bit back a scream and called his name. Brynjolf dropped the reins and hurried to her side. What he saw there brought him to a stop. She'd backed out of the water. A dying slaughterfish lay twitching at her feet with an iron dagger in its side. She held her shift against her chest. But that's not what caught his attention.

He couldn't speak. There was nothing to say. No magic spell, or kind words, which might heal what he saw. Nothing would fix the welts crisscrossing her flesh. An old yellow bruise covered most of her left shoulder. He'd only seen those kinds of scars on prisoners from Cidhna mine in Markarth. Who had done this to her?

She didn't even try to hide the scars. It was too late anyway. He knew her secret... At least, one of her secrets.

He groaned in sympathy, "Oh love." Before draping her leather shirt across her shoulders.

"Don't call me that!" She twisted away and to his dismay cowered as if she was suddenly afraid of him. He'd done nothing to cause her to fear him. What had happened to this child? Then he had an idea, to make himself less threatening, he backed away and crouched down.

"Wee lass, I promise not to look," he said as gently as he could manage over the choking rage. "I'm not leaving you alone. Just get dressed and we can get back on the road."

It took her just a few minutes to pull on her clothes. Brynjolf silently shouldered her pack and carried her weapons as they walked back to the horses. After securing her pack to the saddle he retrieved something, which up until now, he'd kept hidden.

Perhaps it would lift her spirits? He waited until she'd mounted her horse. Then gently picking up one foot at a time, removed her worn and soaked leather boots and dried her feet. Then replaced them with new fur lined boots. When he pressed the fur-lined gloves in her hands, she finally raised her eyes. He'd been wrong. There was plenty of courage in her tear-filled eyes. Obviously, she'd learned to survive.

"It'll be okay, lass. I swear, by the Divines, nothing like that will ever happen to you again."

"Thank you, Brynjolf. And… thank you for the… for everything."

That was the first time she'd said his name. He wanted to thank her too. To say a hundred words which might take the memory of those scars on her back away. But all he could do was pat her foot. How could one young girl churn up such emotion in him?

Brynjolf was very glad Vex or Sapphire weren't watching this, because his Thieves Guild heart-of-stone credibility was shaky already and this girl was taking him down hour by hour. Brynjolf stood quietly holding her foot in his hand before he placed it in the stirrup. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. He knew now that she needed a friend more than she needed him interfering with her.

Once they were back on the road, she seemed to relax. Drawing his horse back a bit to give her some privacy, he let his mind wander from watching the forests to watching her. Thankfully, the roads were quiet.

After another two hours of riding he noticed she was still tall and straight in the saddle. She'd removed her helmet. Her long red hair glinted in the sunlight. He caught snatches of a song she was singing. Hurrying his horse to better hear it, Brynjolf recognized the song. He'd known it as a boy. How had she learned this Nordic counting song?

"Come and I will sing you,

What will you sing me?

I'll sing you one-o,

What will the one be?

One the World Tree all alone, up

ever more shall be so!"

~o~

He let her sing the first verse herself, then joined in.

~o~

Brynjolf: "Come and I will sing you,

Sabrinda: What will you sing me?

Brynjolf: I´ll sing you two-o,

Sabrinda: What will the two be?

Brynjolf: Two is Frey and Freya, down

One the World Tree all alone,

ever more shall be so!"

~o~

Brynjolf: "Come and I will sing you,

Sabrinda: What will you sing me?"

Brynjolf: I'll sing you three-o,"

Sabrinda: What will the three be?"

Brynjolf: Three the Nords who ward the

Well, up

Two is Frey and Freya,

One the World Tree all alone,

ever more shall be so!"

~o~

Then she picked up the lead and he followed.

~o~

Sabrinda: "Come and I will sing you,"

Brynjolf: "What will you sing me?"

Sabrinda: "I'll sing you four-o,"

And on they sang until their voices rang through the forest. It pleased Brynjolf that the sounded so good together. Perhaps when they returned to Riften there would more time for singing. The call and answer of the song provided an easy moment between them.

Where had she learned such a song? Not at the feet of her Ma or her Da. That was Skyrim song; a Nord song. Not a song fit for Imperial halls. Then she turned in the saddle to look back because Brynjolf had stopped singing. The smile she bestowed upon him and the back lit red-gold of her hair enthralled him. He remembered her impulsive hug and realized he would do almost anything to keep that smile on her face. Then in a flash of emotion-filled fire, which burned him and made him catch his breath, he knew that he was falling for her.

Brynjolf's horse jibed and gathered his legs under him to buck when he realized he'd white-knuckled the reins.

"Easy, boy. Easy, balach." He should have said the same things to himself. He needed to stop for a moment. A moment to catch his thoughts before they ran off with his desires. While he turned his horse off the road, he reminded himself what Runa had warned him about. Good advice, 'Bryn, she'd said, stay out of mischief.'

He didn't notice her ride up next to him until her hand lay over his.

"I'm sorry if I…"

"You did nothing wrong! Don't you understand, lass?"

"No, I don't understand."

With an exasperated sigh, he yanked her out of the saddle and across his lap. "You don't ken you're a young girl with beauty like a sunrise. All alone in this dangerous world? That you couldn't defend yourself against more than one wolf or a man? That a man has needs and… And, I've tied myself to a girl who I must protect against those dangers, but also myself? Ye must wake up, lass!"

Sabrinda pushed against him briefly then went limp. Her head dropped against his shoulder while she twisted a bit to get her arms around his waist.

Brynjolf turned his face into her hair. "May I hold you, lass?"

A small nod was all he needed to enfold her in his arms. She smelled of evergreens and fresh Skyrim air.

"Lass, I have an idea of what you're running from now. I'm grateful you've turned to me. I'll not trifle with you. That, I swear. T'was a man who marked you...wasn't it?"

He'd gone too far. She jumped out of his lap to the rough cobblestones and landed on her hands and knees. Brushing her hands off and pushing her hair out of her face, she looked up at him defiantly.

"I may not understand everything about what goes on between a man and a woman, Brynjolf. But I am awake."

"Sabrinda, I ask nothing from you that you are not ready to give. You can trust that, lass." He couldn't just let her walk away. Not now. "Will you think about coming back to Riften with me when you're finished here? I can make sure you have work and shelter. And, you will be safe. She mounted her horse, without responding and urged him into a canter.

By the time they rode out of the valley and onto a wide plain the snow had stopped. The low clouds lifted and Dragonsreach rose in the distance. The closer they got to the city the more people they met. They met no soldiers on the road and everyone was friendly and willing to share news. Sabrinda cheer up as people spoke to her, asked about their destination and tried to draw her out. She was obviously accustomed to speaking with strangers. She wasn't shy, just reserved.

While he watched her talk to the other travelers, his thoughts kept returning to those scars on her back. He'd already decided what he would do to the villain if he crossed his path. The man would know what was happening to him and why. A fierce need to protect Sabrinda rose in him again. Why? Was it her courage? Her willingness to escape what must have been a brutal existence by running away into an even more dangerous world. Did she remind him of his early days? When his heart ruled his head and more often than not he was running from trouble.

By mid-afternoon they turned their tired horses toward the Whiterun stable. Their ears pricked up at the smell of the sweet hay and sturdy legs stretched out to cover the ground more quickly. They were ready for a warm stable and some food. Just as Brynjolf was ready for the Inn, a welcoming fire and a tankard of mead. His only decision? Whether it shall be the Bannered Mare or the Drunken Huntsman.

While he paid the stable boy a guard walked by and took a long look at him. He said exactly what Brynjolf dreaded hearing.

"I know you." The Whiterun guard peered at him through the eye slits in his helmet and looking him up and down.

Brynjolf froze. "I'm escorting this lady to Whiterun to report to the Jarl. She needs protection. What will it take for you to look the other way?"

"I'll look the other way, this time, Master Thief. You still have a bounty, so keep quiet or we'll have to go through this dance again."

Brynjolf took her gently by the shoulders to speak quietly to her. They stood between the two horses. "I'll have to be careful, lass. They know who I am."

"You're a criminal?" She asked as if it hadn't occurred to her before.

"'Brinda, it's no secret. You knew the moment we met."

"I meant will they arrest you for a specific crime? You can't stay out here all by yourself. Come with me?"

"Don't fret about me, lass. Go on, get your business done and I'll meet you at the Bannered Mare. I'll have a good supper waiting for you."

"You've been kind..."

"Hush. Off with you." He gave her a push and she finally headed up the path toward the front gate of Whiterun. She looked back one more time before disappearing around the corner and into the outer bailey. Brynjolf had been to Whiterun many times, so it wasn't difficult to imagine where she was walking. Maybe he should have gone with her. He hoped the Jarl didn't keep her too long.

~oOo~


	5. Who Can Sail Without the Wind

* * *

"Who can sail without the wind?

Who can row without oars?

Who can part from their friends

Without a falling tear?

I can sail without blowing winds

I can row without oars

But I never can part from friends

Without a falling tear"

\--Swedish Folk song

* * *

Too restless to sit at the bar and too distracted to purchase a whore's attentions, Brynjolf turned away from the gates and walked out over the countryside.

The afternoon grew warmer while he enjoyed the fresh air. He allowed his feet to choose the path while he thought things out. The land was alive with game. Perhaps he would hunt a rabbit or two. It made sense to have food ready for their return trip. And when he got her back to Riften, what then? Court her like a proper gentleman? Marry her and ask her to live in the sewer with him.

Shall he recruit her for the Thieves Guild and watch her sent on one dangerous mission after another. The mission to Goldenglow Estate simply the first of many. Mercer would never allow her to live within the Cistern without earning her way. Even Vex hadn't been able to penetrate that fort. How far would a young girl abused by the world around her make it?

She deserved more. She deserved far more than was within his means to give her.

After an hour of walking, Brynjolf found himself southwest of town at the base of a crumbling old tower. Known locally as the Western Watchtower, the old place had fallen into disuse. Most of the wood flooring had rotted away, but the stairway was intact. The town guards use it as a place to get out of the weather. It was a good place to keep a fire and a pot of stew warm. Rabbits also liked to use those ruins for shelter, so Brynjolf readied his bow.

After snagging one rabbit, he went looking for the next when a sound in the distance distracted him from his prey. The rabbit ran for cover. The direction had Brynjolf staring into the low afternoon sun and he couldn't see anything.

Another odd roaring sound. Then the sound of the Whiterun gates banging against the stone walls. When he could finally see clearly, Brynjolf realized as they shouted and called one another, they were headed straight for the tower.

The rubble provided him some cover, so he slipped into the shadows to watch the moment play out. The shadows accepted and surrounded the master thief. This method had always served him well in the past. He'd fight his way out of he had to, but he'd rather use words or stealth.

They were close enough now that he could hear running feet and the sound of a horse churning up the turf. Peering out of his hiding place, Brynjolf looked for the horse. If this was more than just the city guards, he needed to know what he was up against. The gray horse galloping toward him was all too familiar. And a sharp stab of rage lanced through him when he realized the rider was Sabrinda.

"Oh lass, you're giving me up to the guards?"

That cinched it. She must be working for someone. But who? Ulfric or the Emperor? Was she that good of an actor that even Brynjolf the master thief, failed to see through her ruse? Hadn't he been right to suspect her all along?

The Sabrinda he thought he knew was a young girl running away from whoever put those scars on her back. The woman galloping toward him, who was about to turn him over to the guards was a stranger. Had the guard, he paid off, cut her in on the deal?

With a heavy heart, he stepped out of his hiding place and raised his arms in surrender. Her deception cut him deeply. Not since he'd lost Vika's mother or watched his daughter taken away had he felt such loss.

"Take cover! Move!" She shouted, waving at Brynjolf and pointing to the sky.

Why would she warn him if they were about to have him arrested? The guards ran right past him. Some of them charged up the stairs, a few spread out around the base of the tower. Sabrinda slid her horse to a stop in front of him. He could only stare at her.

"Brynjolf! Don't you see it? Can't you hear it?"

They weren't here to arrest him. She's obviously concerned for his safety. The guard closest to him screamed in fear. Sabrinda jumped from the saddle and aimed her bow into the air. The guards were shouting, their voices a swirl of fear and anger.

"Did you see it?"

"By the Gods, we'll bring it down!"

"We'll show those boys in Helgen how it's done!"

A curtain of fire shot past Brynjolf and a snarling roar battered painfully against his ears. Finally, he saw it clearing the top of the tower and circling around to make another pass.

A dragon!

"Sabrinda! Come with me into the tower. I'll protect you. Come inside!"

Instead of heeding his call, she ignored him. She was actually tracking the dragon with her simple bow and iron arrows. At the last second before the dragon attacked again, he attempted to grab her around the waist and lift her from the ground. She fought him, of course. But this time he ignored her protests and dragged her inside.

"Let me go!" She struggled against him, kicking him with her feet, until regretfully just let her go. At least they were safe inside. She dashed up the stairs and he followed. The sunlight blinded both of them. Then Brynjolf watched the dragon notice her movement and point its nose at her.

Talos! She'd be burned to ash in an instant.

"Lass! Come away!"

She shook off his hand, her eyes wild and excited. Then, with an expression, he hoped never to see again, she looked at him and made a horrific sound. The force of her breath knocked him back a few paces. His bow flew from his hand and clattered to the wooden floor. Once free of him she ran back down the stairs.

As Brynjolf got to his feet, he wondered what strange magic had she done to him? Then he remembered Ulfric and the claim he'd 'shouted' the High King to death.

Once back on the ground they watched the dragon go very high. Mercifully, it flew well beyond the reach of their arrows. Good, he thought. That's an end to it. Then it roared again and down it came, hurtling toward them. As it flew passed the guards, a banner of fire erupted from its mouth. The ground burned instantly, consuming one of the guards who happened to be in its path. She hadn't even had time to move out of the way. Gone, with nothing but a smoking heap of flesh and bone left in the dirt to note her passing.

The dragon made one more pass. There were so many arrows sticking out of its hide. Surely, it couldn't sustain that many injuries. Brynjolf thanked Talos, when he saw the guards were slowly tiring the dragon with the constant barrage of arrows.

Finally, with a roar of pure rage the dragon landed, skidding to a halt and throwing up clods of dirt and debris. In its final throes, it shook its great head snapping at anyone who came too close. Sabrinda and raced toward the downed dragon firing arrow after arrow into its tough hide as she went.

He couldn't stop her, but he could watch her back. As he ran, he shouted, "Fancy a'doin'? Then come ahead ya dobber!"

His foolish challenge accomplished two things; gained the dragon's attention and it released a gout of fire directed at him. Brynjolf rolled himself across the tundra. But the flames found him and he felt the fire lick his arm and shoulder. With the smell of his own burnt flesh and hair in his nose the pain dropped him to his knees. But he had distracted it long enough for Sabrinda to rush in.

Skirting the dragon's open mouth, Sabrinda swung the old iron sword over her head. With a mighty blow, she finished the dragon off by opening its belly.

As Brynjolf blacked out, he watched a golden flame of light pass from the dragon into Sabrinda. She stood there brave and tall, while dragon died at her feet with its very soul burning its way into her. The guards were shouting to her and each other. No one had ever seen anything like that.

"Did you see the child? She took its very soul."

"She took the dragon's soul!"

His eyes closed. The pain was terrible. However, he could still hear them whispering among themselves.

"Dragonborn…"

"Is she the one?"

"Is it possible?"

"Dovahkiin."

Brynjolf's thoughts were also full of Sabrinda. Who would take care of her now that he was gone?

~O~

If this were Sovngarde, he was disappointed. He could hear no singing, no golden light, and no sounds of battle. All he could hear were the sounds of shouting and arguing. While hurried movements set the candle light dancing across the walls in lurid patterns. The air itself was thick with smoke from the fireplace and too many people in the room. This couldn't be Sovngarde. He'd been gulling himself all along; Talos had no use for a thief.

Then the pain of his injuries reminded him of what happened. The dragon! Too sleepy to open his eyes and too weak to roll off the pile of skins, he stopped fighting and let himself drift. He tried to let the memories of 'Brinda's singing gentled him back to sleep. But the voices kept shouting over his head, interrupting his musings. Why wouldn't they quiet down?

"I'll tell you exactly who that is. It's Brynjolf from Riften here to do some mischief, that's who!"

"We'd better get the Jarl's steward down here. He'll know what to do."

"Mark my words! Brynjolf is here to rob us blind as beggars. Distract us while this chit of a girl brings more dragons down around our heads."

The door banged open, setting Brynjolf's head to pound.

"TALOS HAS GIVEN US A SIGN! THE DOVAHKIIN IS OUR HERO! MIGHTY TALOS HAS SPOKEN! ARISE‒"

"Get that mad priest out of here! Lock the bloody door! We've got to figure out what to do."

"My father is the Jarl's steward. He'll listen to me."

"Aye Adrianne, we're not likely to forget who your father is."

"What do you have to say for yourself, girl?"

"Nice of you to finally ask, Vilkas. My name is Sabrinda Menanius. I'm from the Imperial City. You're wrong about this man. My father paid him to be my guide and dogsbody while I traveled around Skyrim."

"Your what?" Adrianne, the blacksmith asked, crossing her brawny arms over her chest.

After that remark, the thief managed to get his eyes open enough to locate Sabrinda in the room. She sat next to his cot. Her dogsbody? He had to admit, it was as a good a story as any he could think up.

Sabrinda tilted her chin up and replied haughtily, "My tour. It's the custom for high born young ladies in the Imperial City to travel before they settle down with the man their parents pick out for them."

"First I've heard of it," remarked one of the townspeople.

"I don't give a skeever's arse what kind of a trip you're on. Why don't you start by explaining why you brought yonder dragon down on our heads?"

"I don't appreciate being accused of something I didn't do. You have no proof I brought the dragon here. I helped kill it didn't I? Ask any of the guards who were out there with us."

One of the guards spoke up, "She did help us kill it; she and her man. Then something happened. The dragon died and put some kind of power in her."

"Aye, I saw it too. The beast gave her its soul! She's the Dragonborn, I tell you! She's the one!"

"She'll take all our souls if we don't do something about her. She's a witch!"

This needed to stop. You never knew what a mob might do and they were beginning to sound dangerous. Brynjolf forced himself into a sitting position and with as much force as he could muster, "Leave the girl alone. She came here from Riften to warn your Jarl about the dragon attack at Helgen. Now, get out of here. I won't have my lady treated like a common sneak thief. Now, you say she's a witch. Out, I say!"

That did it. They filed out, grumbling and gossiping as they left. His shouting brought the pain back twofold and he flopped back on the bed. At his side immediately, Sabrinda lifted his head to help him drink a cup of mead. It had a sour smell to it, which he assumed was a healing potion.

But he'd slept enough and took only a small sip.

"It's for the pain and to help you sleep." She straightened the skins and saw to his comfort. When she turned toward the fireplace, he reached out and caught the end of her long braid.

"And who did this for you, lass? Who saw to your comfort when those welts on your back were fresh?"

"Don't."

With his uninjured arm, he wound the braid around his wrist until she was back at his side. She was exhausted, grimy, and swaying on her feet. He had to know.

"I want to know now, and you will tell me now. The thought of you being in as much pain as I am in now is unthinkable."

Then he saw the look in her eye as she stared down at the hand bound up in her hair. When she began to tremble, he realized I'd done it again and released her immediately.

Her eyes glazed over. She was somewhere else, reliving an old memory. Sabrinda raised her hands in defense of the blows she knew would come. Her words were pitiful and he could hardly stand to hear her speak them.

"Please don't pull my hair… don't hurt me. Please. I was good... I did what you said... I made those people go away. I told them I'd fallen off my pony and they went away... Father, please!"

He wouldn't simply kill the man who'd done this to her. He would bring him back to Riften. Take him out behind the fish hatchery, where the slaughterfish gathered to feast on scraps. Hang him with his feet in the water. If he were still screaming the next day, he'd set him a little deeper.

"'Brinda, lass. Look at me. It's Brynjolf. Look at me. No one here will hurt you. My Lady, look at me."

"Brynjolf?" Her eyes focused on him and she rushed toward him. Gods, this is going to hurt, he realized and steeled himself for the impact of her body against his burned shoulder. Then she abruptly stopped in the middle of the room and the fear in her eyes replaced with wonder. She looked straight at him. The tears were gone.

"What does it mean that I'm the Dovahkiin?"

He landed heavily on the bed. "It's an old word that means Dragonborn. Someone who is called dragon born shares a special power with the dragons. You've heard the stories about how Ulfric killed the High King?"

She nodded and came to the bed to sit next to me.

"Yes, I've heard the stories about Ulfric."

"Do you remember using the voice on me?"

"I'm sorry. I could have hurt you. It just came out. I had to get the dragon. I don't know how to explain it, but I had to get to that dragon. They told me I should visit the Graybeards."

"Who told you?"

"The Companions. That's where we are. In one of their rooms. They asked me to join their group, because I helped kill the dragon. I have so many things to do now. I don't know what to do next. I need to get the jobs done to earn money. But... I'm sorry. Things were simpler before you were with me."

He knew exactly what she needed to do next. Forcing himself out of the bed, he straightened the skins. Then gently turned her around and sat her down on the edge. He helped her off with her boots and gloves. Then to give her some privacy, he held up the largest skin.

"Off with it, lass. That leather is filthy and you need rest. In the morning, things will have a clearer look to them."

Brynjolf grabbed a fine green blanket to cover her. "There's my girl. Now, down you go."

There was water and a cloth close by. Brynjolf gently wiped the grime off her cheeks. By the time he'd finished and carded her hair back from her face with his fingers she was asleep. Before he left her, he retrieved fresh water for her bath in the morning.

Gathering the boots and leather armor to have them cleaned he made his way upstairs. After thanking Kodlak Whitemane and a few other Companions in the mead hall, they invited him to the table. They pushed a plate toward him and talk turned to everyday subjects while he ate. The mead was good and strong and the venison perfectly seasoned. They waited politely until he'd pushed back from the table before Kodlak began to question him.

"You've got the whole town turned upside down, Brynjolf. Every homemaker in Whiterun bolted her doors and hidden her daughters. I'll say it plain, the Jarl won't allow you stay past dawn. We allowed you in here because of the girl and your injury."

"Sir, those housewives can rest easy. I'm here for no other reason than to escort the girl. She stopped off in Riften and I offered to see her safely here so she could warn the Jarl about a dragon attack in Helgen.

"What's she to do with Helgen?" Vilkas inquired.

These were good people, but how did his business suddenly become their business?

"She was there. The Imperials rounded her up with a few other prisoners. One of them is Ulfric himself. They only escaped the Imperial chopping block when the dragon attacked."

"That's a tall tale even for you Brynjolf."

"It's the simple truth. Why would I lie? She's a young girl out on her own. I decided to help her. I'm not always a thief, Master Whitemane and I resent the implication."

Every hand in the hall dropped to a weapon, until Brynjolf eased his hands back to the table.

Talos damn that dragon and all like him. While he trusted The Companions to care for her, they were acting as if she were already part of their family. A family, to which, he would never be invited or welcomed.

"Calm down. We are only thinking of what is best for the girl. She's here now and we can take care of her. Vilkas and Aela invited her to join us and she agreed. We witnessed what happened today and based on the legends, we believe she might be the Dragonborn. With us, she'll be protected and nurtured. Farkas and Aela are making plans to improve her weapons skills. There will be work for her to do and she can continue her adventuring if she chooses. Can you do the same for her, Brynjolf?"

"You know I can't. The only thing I have to offer her is a life of crime. No matter how I feel about the bairn that's all I would ever have to give her. Will you promise me you'll see she gets to the Greybeards in one piece?"

"Of course. We see how attached you've become to the girl and she with you. This is for the best. And don't forget at dawn the guards will come here to escort you out of town."

"Aye, I haven't forgotten. And I'll not argue your point, sir."

And like a thief sneaking away under the cover of night, he will abandon her. Any bond built between them would die within her when she realized he was gone. He'd earned her trust and was about to betray her with it.

"We fed and watered your horse. There's enough food in your saddlebag to get you home. Vilkas will make sure the guards don't stop you from leaving."

"I don't need a damned escort. I'm not a child who needs help because they're scared of the dark."

Brynjolf stood slowly. He didn't want to leave this warm hall, comfortable and companionship. He would leave Sabrinda behind and go back to his life in the sewer. A thief was always unwelcome and always bad news. It was their lot to be alone in the street gazing at a warm hearth inside a snug home. For a moment, he cursed his fate.

"At least, let me see her one more time. I promise not to wake her."

Greymane nodded, "Aela, go with him."

He found her curled on her side. They would take care of her in ways he could not. She said life was simpler before she met me. So he'd convinced himself this was the right thing to do.

Brynjolf knelt next to the bed and pulled a gold necklace from an inner pocket. Then he carefully wrapped her fingers around the disc shaped amulet. The face of it is covered with intricate scrollwork. At its center, is a piece of Mara's stone. The Turquoise is the physical manifestation of her earthly love and devotion.

"Farewell, lass. There's true love in my heart for you. If you need me just send word."

~oOo~

A dogsbody is a lowly person who gets all the dirty jobs, like emptying the ashtrays or putting new toner in the photocopier. Anything menial, disagreeable, or boring somehow makes it into the job description. Americans might prefer gofer or grunt instead.


	6. Brave Deeds

* * *

"Luck is one thing, brave deeds another," Viking quote from the Icelandic Sagas

* * *

Wrapped in a misery of his own making Brynjolf rode alone through the starless night. Twice his horse tried to turn back toward Whiterun. Both times the movement woke him and he got the weary horse headed back home.

"Aye, Beastie. I wish we could go back."

The horse nodded his head as if to answer. When he snorted his displeasure, tendrils of icy breath billowed around his head.

Pulling the wolf skin tighter around his shoulders Brynjolf sank deeper into melancholia. He wanted to go back and not just for 'Brinda. He found himself yearning for the fellowship of Jorrvaskr. The warm, bright hall, the wholesome food, and the august company of their hearth, beckoned him. Sabrinda would be safe there and he was glad she would enjoy the camaraderie of The Companions. Yet, he missed her and yearned for something he could not yet name.

Wolves howled in the dark forest, reminding him to stay alert.

What would cure him of this heart sickness? A quick thrust with a country maid? Then listen to her giggle while she used her unsophisticated charms to lure him inside to meet her father? No, he'd lost the desire for that kind of play. Possibly, a well-executed heist that brought The Guild more wealth. No amount of coin, jeweled cups, or solid gold ships would bring back the sound of 'Brinda's carefree singing.

"Be happy if you can, lass." His chest ached with need and it wasn't just the injury. Gathering up the reins, he nudged the sleepy horse into a trot. "Bah! Enough of this woolgathering! You're acting like a green lovesick lad! Come on ye'lazy nag move on."

Then, with a snort and a couple of crow hops to remind him who's boss the dappled-gray finally picked up his feet. They moved out into the first rays of a new day, while hooves beat a cheerful tattoo on the stone roadway.

Horse and rider continued to make good time after the sun came up. As he approached Lake Honrich, Brynjolf turned west along the shoreline to avoid both Black-Briar estate and the bandits. Very soon, the familiar sights and sounds of Riften welcomed Brynjolf home.

They rounded the last bit of shoreline and headed up the trail behind an empty house. Brynjolf wondered idly if the small house were for sale. Then the stable boy greeted him with a smile and wanted to know all about the news of the dragon appearing outside of Whiterun.

"Come up to the inn when you can, boy. You'll get the whole story." Brynjolf said, as he handed him the reins and gave him a bit of extra coin to pay for a bucket of grain for the horse.

The guards hailed him and asked for the news. His feet made that familiar sound on the wooden boards. Home at last. As he approached the bridge, he had to decide whether to head to the Guild or cross.

He had something thinking to do and wasn't ready for the dank halls of The Guild. He craved a mug of ale, a welcoming fire, and the company of familiar people. His steps took him across the bridge and into the Bee and Barb. All heads turned when the master thief entered. Many of them called out his name. He couldn't help but wave a greeting. Sometimes you needed to go where everyone knew your name. The shadowy gloom began to lift.

An hour later with a hot meal in his belly, he's standing in the center of a crowd, telling the tale of the dragon at Whiterun. He knew he'd been a bit carried away, when Keerava made an obvious point to ask about the girl.

"You called it, Keerava. She's the Dragonborn. Everyone who witnessed her take the dragon's soul is convinced of it. The Companions promised me they would see her safely to the Graybeards. You should have heard the call. Shortly after the dragon died, a sound like thunder rolled across the land. It made the hair stand up on your neck."

Now, everyone wanted to know her whereabouts. They wanted to talk to her, and ask when a dragon might attack Riften.

"She's safe with the Companions. They invited her to join their ranks and she accepted," Brynjolf assured them

Then he stopped talking when it hit him that no matter what his desires or hopes for 'Brinda might be, she was lost to him. She's the Dragonborn and what is he? He's nothing but a thief and a snake oil salesman. Brynjolf waved away the crown, made it to the back corner of the bar, and wrapped himself around a tankard of mead.

Morning found Brynjolf with his head on the bar and his hand curled in a puddle of spilled mead. If getting drunk was his first mistake, the second was to raise his head. After a few minutes, he was finally able to sit up and look around, only to find he is alone. Keerava must have decided to leave me with my misery.

By the Gods, he realized he stank of horses, of sweat and soured mead. His shoulder burned with pain, but a small bottle of healing potion next to his spilled mug. Thank you, Keerava. Without regard to what it might do to his stomach, he downed the potion in one gulp. He groaned as it burned its way down his throat.

The boarded streets were deserted as he made my way to the gate leading to the docks. His destination, a shallow pool dammed off from the lake and perfect for bathing He made it, but once he got his shirt off, his stomach woke up and dropped him to his knees. The entire contents of his stomach made a second appearance.

Once his head cleared, he stripped down to his linen and dove into the pond. The icy water shocked him awake and he surfaced gasping. Thankfully, the cold water numbed his shoulder and he used the time to carefully brush the burned area with his fingers to clean it. Whatever they put on it was doing its job, because the burn was healing. He stretched his cramped muscles, rinsed his mouth, and swam until he was clean. Then he hauled himself to the bank to sit in the sun and start on some of that thinking.

Was it too late to make a few changes in his life? Was he as brave as Sabrinda to make it happen? He wouldn't run. No, he would stay here and attempt to do something. There were a few honest people in town who tried to do right by the town and he vowed to talk to them.

While Brynjolf shook out his leather armor and dressed, a list of things to do formed in his mind. First, he would see the Jarl. For the moment, he would say nothing about Maven Black-Briar. This was not the time to alienate Maven, because that would require a plan. And he decided he would inquire about purchasing the house and create a proper home for himself.

As he walked back into town with purpose and something to look forward to, he doubted he could admit to himself how much of what he planned was due to Sabrinda's influence, or that he was bettering himself for her and to be worthy of her.

~o~

The days turned into weeks and winter made itself known by blowing a storm through Riften that froze the water around the wooden buttresses. The wind howled across the town with such force that the merchants couldn't open their stalls. The storm lasted for a week and the snow kept the people of Riften inside for two more. Keerava enjoyed a brisk business during that time. What no one spoke about, was if the storm had lasted another week they might have run out of food. The fish froze in the lake and the ones smart enough to dive deep were beyond the angler's reach. Either bedded down or gone south to warmer weather, the deer and elk were gone too. No one could remember a colder winter or a harsher storm.

He spent the lonely nights in his new home, his days with The Guild, and his evenings swapping stories at the inn. Once the single ladies heard about Brynjolf purchasing Honeyside their interest in him grew. A few offers to warm his bed, thinly disguised as offers to cook or clean, came his way. Not a one of them even made it through the front door. His mind was on other things and he found he just didn't have the heart for it. Eventually they stopped asking and that was fine.

Occasionally a traveler would struggle through the snow to Riften. They would buy them food and drink in return for news. Brynjolf listened closely for mention of Sabrinda or the new Dragonborn. Not once, all that long winter, did he hear any word of the lass.

Over time, he'd made small changes to the Thieves Guild. Instead of outright thievery, they accepted recovery jobs. Small jobs at first, recovering expensive jewelry or a valuable weapon. Then larger jobs, recovering the stolen merchandise from shipments or caravan raids. There were jobs where a little muscle was needed to help with a problem or quiet a blackmail threat.

The weather made for slow growth, but that meant neither Mercer nor Maven noticed. In fact, they complimented Brynjolf on the increased profit. The men seemed to enjoy the work. They spoke openly about the generosity of their clients for a job well done. Brynjolf let them keep whatever they made after the price of the job. It was good to see them cheerful and enthusiastic.

When word of the changes he planned got around. Even Mjoll the Lioness approached him with some ideas. They spent a pleasurable afternoon in the Bee and Barb getting to know one another. She's smart and brave. Brynjolf found himself wishing he'd taken the time to make her acquaintance years ago.

"You miss that young girl, Brynjolf. I've never seen you so thoughtful."

"Aye, that I do. She changed me. I canna account for it. "

"She's good and kind, Brynjolf. Before she left, Sabrinda promised to recover my old sword from an old Dwemer ruin."

The sun was just dropping below the horizon when Brynjolf stood on the balcony of Honeyside. While he enjoyed a cup of wine before turning in he reflected back on his conversation with Mjoll. Just before he'd taken his leave, she'd tugged at his leather sleeve.

"You're lonely, Brynjolf. You don't have to be and it doesn't have to get thorny."

His body reacted before he could get the words out. To lose himself in the voluptuous body of this beautiful and powerful woman. To numb his mind by burying himself in those generous breasts and thighs. A long sigh had gone out of him.

But he'd walked her home and when she turned to thank him, he backed her against the door and kissed her. There was no shyness in her answering kiss. With one hand fisted into his hair, she wrapped a leg around his hips.

"I was wrong about you, master thief. Come inside, by the fire," her deep voice beckoned.

But it meant nothing, or maybe it didn't mean enough. Brynjolf had reached around behind her and opened the door to her home.

"A tempting offer, lass. Perhaps another time." He'd kissed her once more and pushed her inside.

The weather had finally cleared and from the balcony, he could see all the way to the Black-Briar estate. The melancholia must have returned tonight because he began to think back on his life. Thirty years old on his next name day, for a healthy man like him that's not so old. He's no longer young, but there's no gray in his hair and he's strong as ever. When some young buck kicks his teeth in or the lassies stop looking, he'll worry. Brynjolf tossed the remainder of his wine over the railing and heads inside to bed.

By morning, an ice fog shrouds Riften and the lake. It's the kind of wet chill that goes into your bones. As Brynjolf walks toward The Guild, thoughts as deep as the hands in his pockets, a courier surprised him coming from the gate. Riften hadn't seen a courier in weeks.

"I've been looking for you. Your eyes only," he said and handed a surprised Brynjolf a letter. Brynjolf gave him a coin and advised him to tell Keerava he sent him in for a proper warmer. He nodded his thanks. When he's alone again, Brynjolf sat down on a bench in front of the bunkhouse to read the unexpected missive.

_ Brynjolf _

_I hope this letter finds you well and your shoulder properly healed. The winter in Whiterun was fierce. Everyone's heart lifted when we heard the news is getting through and the roads are clear. Yesterday we heard even Riften was hit hard. Several folks here came down with a sickness of the chest. Two guards and one small child died of it. The poor thing coughed until it lost its breath and died. It was very sad to watch the mother grieve so hard. I imagine it's very difficult to lose a child._

_Every night the wolves howled piteously very close to the gates. The guards said they were starving. Everyone said that's a sure sign of hard times. However, the sun came out today for the first time in weeks._

_I've tried many times to write down how I felt when I woke up and you were gone. The Companions reassured me it was for the best. They meant well, but their words didn't stop my anger and disappointment. After a few days of hard training and learning my way around, the anger faded. I still missed you. I miss you now._

_You left me a beautiful gift. I treasure it and wear it every day. The other Companions tease me about it. I got tired of Vilkas asking me if I were really looking. Looking for what, I asked him. He just laughed. So now, I wear it under my shirt._

_Brynjolf, I understand what an Amulet of Mara represents. You didn't truly mean it that way. Did you?_ I choose _to think you didn't, because what would a man of the world such as yourself want with a green girl like me?_

 _Now that the weather has cleared, Vilkas and Farkas will escort me to the Graybeards. I told them I could go by myself, but they said no. They said you had made them promise to escort me. Still watching out for me, Brynjolf? I hope_ so, _because I'm a little frightened of what I will find at The Throat of the World and what the Graybeards may expect of me._

_Talos Guide You_

_Sabrinda_

His hands were shaking by the time he finished reading the letter. What would he want with a green girl like her? What did he want, he wondered and laughed aloud at the thought for once in his life he could gain his heart's desire.

Townsfolk passed him and one or two of them glanced his way. After sliding the letter inside his shirt, he headed straight for The Guild. By the time he said his prayer at the shrine and bid Nura good morning, he was ready to face the men.

Instead of the usual early morning quiet, the Ragged Flagon buzzed with talk. Then everything went silent when they saw Brynjolf enter. They must have drawn straws because only Delvin approached.

"Boss, we found someone in the Warrens last night. She'll only talk to you. We put her in an alcove for privacy." He nodded in the direction of the empty spaces that bordered the cistern. "We built a fire and left her some food. We have no idea what she's doing down here. Like I said, boss, she'll only talk to you."

Might as well see about the mystery, he thought with some impatience. As he rounded the corner, the first thing he saw was a fire burning brightly in the warm alcove. The second was the petite figure under a thick pile of blankets. His heart searched quickly for red-gold hair.

~oOo~


	7. Luck is one thing, brave deeds another.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Dear readers. At the request of a reviewer, I changed to Sabrinda's POV for this chapter. While I'm here, thank you for all the kind feedback and encouragement. It means a lot to hear you enjoy the story. So, let's see what Sabrinda has to say. I'm just going to start typing...

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Norwegian Runic Love Poem: Óst min, kyss mik, Translation: My love, kiss me

* * *

The journey down the thousand-step path is quiet and somber. Even our horses pick their way quietly down the slippery steps. It's a strange contrast from our ride here, to Riverwood, when we passed the time by singing and storytelling. Perhaps, it's in deference to my mood, that Vilkas and Farkas are so quiet.

What I learned from the Graybeards is now a part of me. It's just as Ulfric Stormcloak said, any Nord can learn the ways of the voice. The monks assured me my voice was different. My voice ‒my Thu'um ‒ is stronger. As time goes by, I shall able to strengthen my shout and learn new ones. They say I am the Dovahkiin. They say I proved myself. They say I am the one.

In my heart, I'm still the frightened girl who ran away from home. The girl, who, because she can't help herself, keeps count of the men she's killed, remembers their faces, grieves for the families they leave behind.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Farkas jog his horse up next to me. He reached across and gripped my fingers.

"Where are your gloves, shield-sister?"

He's such a kind man and I smiled my thanks at his thoughtfulness. It's not just my hands, my entire body feels numb, and my thoughts swirl like snowflakes on the wind. I turned my hand to hold his.

"Thank you, truly, Farkas. My thoughts dart like an ice wraith today."

"Those old men, what they said to you… does it trouble you?"

I squeezed his hand again, "It does. It seems like a lot to live up to and too much responsibility."

"I see greatness in you, shield-sister. And courage. More courage, I think, than all of us put together. Let each day come as it will. And remember you are not alone. Never all alone."

"How'd you get so wise, Farkas?"

He shrugged, "Getting my brother out of one scrape after another."

"The path levels out here," Vilkas shouted over his shoulder. Let's pick up the pace, and get Sabrinda to the inn. Those old men weren't very generous with food or mead. My stomach is chewing on my backbone." Vilkas spurred his horse forward.

Farkas and I share a smile. It's well known that Vilkas lives in his stomach. The Companions tease him that it's his beast blood… Never mind. I'm not supposed to talk about that. I don't even like to think about it.

"Get up, Tyven!" I called to my horse and kicked the dappled-gray to a gallop and we fly past Vilkas. "We'll see who gets the first tankard, brothers!"

They catch up with me at the door of the inn. With much flourish and courteous manner, they bow me inside. It's good to spend time with these two. I grew up alone, without siblings or many friends. Now I have Farkas and Vilkas as my brothers and sisters to fight with and compete for Kodlak's attention. We laugh and fight together. They watch out for me, teach me, and tell funny stories at night as we sit around the great table. Intimidated by them at first, now I love my shield-brothers and sisters.

"Sirrah!" Vilkas shouted to the barkeep. "The Lady is chilled to the bone! A cup of your best mulled wine!"

While Vilkas collects our drinks, Farkas guides me to the bench closest to the fire. Soon, I have my hands wrapped around a cup of warm wine and a fur rug over my legs. The spices drift up to my nose and it's comforting. Sometimes their kindness overwhelms me, because it's not something to which I am accustomed. Their gruff manners and loud voices would not be welcomed in the Imperial City. At one time, that would have mattered to me. The Companions taught me about life, fighting, and honor. I am grateful and honored to be counted among their company. I am also weary and long for a bed.

Farkas swipes a finger across my cheek. "No sadness, sister," he said kindly and gallantly bows his head over my hand. Then he shouted in my face. "Now eat!"

The food is hot and well prepared and we eat our fill. Later, my shield-brothers strike up a conversation with a few Stormcloak soldiers taking their ease around the fire. They talk on and on and I feel myself beginning to drift. While he's speaking, Vilkas puts his arm around me and lets me lean against him.

After supper, he'd removed his chest piece and pauldrons, so my cheek rests against the warm felt of his tunic. It's been a long day. I slide my arms around his muscular frame to move closer to his warmth. The men's voices are deep and melodic as they discuss the war. The firelight danced against my eyes until they closed.

Sometime later, I drift up through layers of sleep and breathe deeply of a familiar scent. A male voice whispers and strong arms pull me close. A warrior's rough hands spread across my back and then up into my hair.

"Move your hand, little sister."

What is he speaking of? Oh! My hand is resting on his lap and I move it quickly away. The embrace comforts me and it's all very familiar. The scent of him affects me like the mulled wine. It's a spicy mix of horses, outdoors and the soothing presence of my shield brother.

Against my skin, the soft brush of his beard tickles and I respond to the sensation by innocently rubbing my cheek against it.

Finally, I open my eyes to find the inn dark and quiet. The fire is smoldering, banked for the night. There's no one by the fire but Vilkas and me. I should move. I should go to bed. It's warm in the circle of his arms and cold outside. Instead of using my hands to push away from him as I should, one grasped the collar of his tunic the other traced the stubble of his beard. I tilt my head back and I can see his eyes now. The look in his eyes - I have no definition for it - touched me instinctively. Things are not so familiar now as I watch in fascination as his lips move and my fingertips reach to touch the movement.

He gently kissed my fingers.

My heart leaps in response and begins a rapid tattoo against my ribs. I can hardly draw a breath. I want something from him, but I have no idea what it might be. Somehow, I know that he knows. I can see it in his eyes and for a moment, there is another pair of eyes. It's Brynjolf and I remember something of the same look in his. Then I forget all about him when Vilkas pulled one of my fingers into his mouth. A shock goes through me, arching me against him.

Perhaps I am a little scared now. "Vilkas?"

"Yes?" His voice is harsh and breathless like mine. "Have you ever been kissed?"

"N-no."

Then I will be the first and that pleases me. I want you to remember the man who gives you your first kiss. This man loves you and would never hurt you. Will you remember that?"

I barely nod my head before his lips are touching mine. I'm drowning in the sweet taste of mead and the pressure of his lips as they explore my mouth. When he dips his tongue between my lips, my body begins to move of its own accord. I pushed restlessly against him and Vilkas responded by closing me in his arms and pulling me upwards so that I'm almost on his lap now. The room is dark and my world has narrowed down to the pressure of his hands and the indescribable sensations of my first kiss.

I feel the buckles of my armor release when Farkas enters the room.

"Brother!"

Those two syllables roll down the length of the room and break us apart. Vilkas released me so quickly that I almost fell backwards on the bench. Then Farkas had me by the shoulders and pushed me into one of the empty rooms.

"Sleep," he admonished and closed the door. What he said to his brother I didn't hear. My head is spinning and I fall into bed to dream a maiden's simple fantasy of true love, the strength of a man's embrace and my first kiss.

~O~

The White River moves sluggishly as I walked along its bank the next morning. The frigid water meandered slowly around the ice flows on its way south. It must still be very cold in the mountains. Soon the snow will melt and swell the rivers across Skyrim. I have just a few more plants to collect for the woman back at Elgrim's Elixirs, in Riften.

As I walked along, gathering the plants, I remember her odd manner. Almost as if, she was scared of something or nervous. I didn't know which or if I were even correct. But it was a simple task and she seemed so pleased when I agreed to it. The last Nirnroot I required betrayed its presence by its melodic sound. The glow of the plant is visible just around a small river bluff. Good, I think, because I'm ready to move on and I want to get back to the inn. Will Vilkas be as embarrassed as I, about last night? How will he act toward me…?

When I reach out for the plant, a hand dropped on my arm. My first instinct was to pull away, but the grip is like steel. It's a man, not like any man I've ever seen. The eyes are so red they are almost bleeding with color.

My left arm is free, so I use it to unsheathe my sword, and there's just enough feeling left in my right arm to conjure a fire atronach.

At the atronach's first fireball, the thing released my arm and that's his second mistake. His first? To attack me at all. I hadn't been idle these past winter months. It screamed in pain as the magic fire engulfed him.

Then, with a roar of some spell I didn't recognize it destroyed the atronach.

I'm ready, and with my blade horizontal, I plant my right foot and spin my body around, using my momentum to swing the blade in a flat arch. The thing block's my strike easily, and it's on me again. It casts again and something is crawling, like a thousand ants across my body weakening me. My sword falls to the ground and once again, the thing is leering into my face.

Its breath is putrid with the stink of dead bodies and I try to turn my face away. My will is weakening and the creature is smiling triumphantly. As if from a long distance away, I hear my brothers shouting my name. Its crooked filthy hands are moving over my body, opening my collar and moving aside my hair.

Then I hear another voice. This one is much closer. The timbered voice floats along the air between the creature's face and mine.

"I warned you Arngeir. I told you she was too goraan ahrk sahlo... too young and weak... to draw on the power. And now we are about to lose her."

I'm not weak! I gasped and renewed my attempt to escape from its grip.

The second voice, I recognized as one of the monks, replied, "You underestimate her, Paarthurnax. She is strong and brave. Remember, young Dragonborn. Sky above, Voice within."

The sky! The icy blue air of our Nord sky filled my lungs. The Thu'um! I search for the words, only to discover they are right here, waiting for my command.

Fus...Rage boils within me.

Ro... How dare this creature attack me?

Dah... Yes, of course! How could I have forgotten?

"FUS RO DAH."

The thing reared back in surprise. I caught just a glimpse of its face as it flew away from me, bounced off a rock on the far side of the river, and slid like a rag doll into the water.

I fell to my knees when it released me and I filled my lungs with sweet Skyrim air. The power of my Thu'um hummed through my blood. I also feel dirty and want nothing more than to wash myself in the river. There's something else. I want to be alone and think about this power. I want to talk to Brynjolf about it. I need to go back to Riften.

My brothers are here with me now and they help me to feet. I wonder if they witnessed my use of the Word or what they thought about it.

"I think it was a vampire." Farkas remarked and Vilkas doesn't respond, but his eyes are wide with concern.

"What about your sword? Don't touch the blade. Here give it to me and I'll clean it for you. Did it bite you or break the skin?" Farkas fussed over me by taking my sword and inspecting my arms. Thankfully, I am free of bite marks.

"It only grabbed me by the arm. The rest I owe to your training." I said carefully, watching for their reaction. They merely exchanged a look.

"The filthy brutes grow bolder each day," Vilkas finally commented and took my arm as we walk back to the town.

Vilkas was correct, everywhere we go the talk is of vampires. I stopped on the path, pulling Vilkas close, so I can speak quietly. Farkas stops a few paces behind to stand guard while we talk.

"I'm thinking of joining the Dawnguard to help stamp out this vampire threat. Why don't you two come with me?"

"Become a vampire hunter? No, sister. That is not the journey for Farkas and me. Let's continue to Whiterun. We have a good story for tonight's feast and you shall have a part in the telling."

Vilkas reached for my hand, expecting that I will follow him obediently. I am done with following.

We continue toward the inn. Farkas and Vilkas, are working on the story, by repeating it to each other. I know they will fill in the parts they don't remember. I will be sorry to miss its telling, but my heart pulls me elsewhere and I have many promises to keep.

After I use the washbasin in my room to scrub away the vampire's taint, I slowly gather my things. They wait for me in the yard. The sky is bright blue and the sun is warm on my face. All around us the snow is melting. Noisy birds scuffle and chase each other, celebrating their ability to live through another winter. It's almost spring. Time for change and time to grow. I'm ready.

Farkas handed me the reins. Instead of accepting the leather, I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek.

He looked at me with a frown, "Little sister, you have the look of farewell about you."

When I reached for Vilkas, he caught me in his arms. Our armor clanged together. He looked at me seriously. "After last night, I'm not ready to let you go."

"I must go. We will see each other again, shield brother."

"And that's all I am to you now, Sabrinda?"

"For now, yes. I have many miles to travel. I search for my true path and the journey beckons. Perhaps a kiss for the road?" I asked boldly, a blush burning my cheeks. I sincerely hoped this girlish blushing will stop now that I'm this Dragonborn person.

My brother answers my request by framing my face in his hands and kissing me tenderly.

~oOo~

tyven: Norwegian for the thief


	8. Bare is his back who has no brother

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"What is Better – To Be Born Good, Or to Overcome Your Evil Nature Through Great Effort. -Paarthurnax

* * *

 

Brynjolf shot a look over his shoulder, inviting the men to back off. To their credit, they obeyed. With a little help from Vex, who shooed them back with a wave of her hands. They didn't like it, but one went against Vex at their own peril. Their grumbling voices died away as she moved them back to the bar area.

Alone with the petite figure huddled under blankets, Brynjolf stretched out his hand. It's his knife hand. A hand that knows how to snap a neck with a twist, or throw a knife with deadly accuracy and how empty a pocket, with no one the wiser. This morning is different. This morning the hand curls gently, the fingers seeking, a gentle touch as he pulls the edge of a blanket.

"'Brinda?" He called softly, his voice barely a whisper of hope.

"Brynjolf? Is that you?"

The woman on the cot cast a frightened glance his way. Sleepy eyes blinked open. Brynjolf lets out the breath he'd been holding.

Her dark golden eyes were the same color as her hair. The high cheekbones and firm mouth were just like her Mother's. Ingun Black-Briar had never been like her mother in temperament. Where Maven's eyes held malice, her daughter's held only warmth and generosity. Maven's high cheekbones gave her a sinister look, while Ingun's face was exotic and quick to smile.

"Aye, it's me. What are you doing here?"

"Bryn is there any water?"

He handed her the water skin. She snatched it out of his hand and gulped at the water.

"Take it slow," he cautioned. Whatever was wrong too much water at once would not sit well with her.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I used to be your lass."

Tawny-brown hair hung down covering the face. With a habit created from memories, he pushed it back with his fingertips. The comforting touch belies the rage building in his gut.

"Aye, and that was long ago."

"Bryn, please don't be angry. I saw her." She gripped his hand. Her eyes went wide and scared. As if, she was terrified of something. "I saw our daughter!"

No. By the Divines, no! He could not go through this again. What wild imaginings had Ingun dreamed up this time? She was always good at making up stories. This was too close to his heart. Those days were gone. He'd grown up and moved on. What was she doing here? He found he wasn't even interested in why they lived in the same small town, but had not spoken in more than ten years.

Aye, he would stop it and get her back to the shop. They could go back through the Warrens and none the wiser.

"You're imagining things. Don't torture yourself over something that happened so long ago."

"Ten years? No, it was just yesterday… Maybe last year or the year before. I can't remember! Oh Gods! No… Bryn. Maven… My mother… You're right the girl was too old. My little Vika… Where is my little girl?"

"I'm begging you to be silent!" He almost placed his hand over her mouth. When he reached for her, she slapped his hands away and began talking again. She's speaking quickly as if the moment might pass before she can catch up with it.

"All these years, she's kept me drugged and watched." Ingun fisted her fingers into the belt across Brynjolf's chest. She tugged at him trying to get him to understand.

"Why, Bryn? I tried escaping from the estate yesterday. I almost made it. This morning I slipped something in Hafjorg's ale. When she passed out, I ran across the way into the Rat Warrens. I lost my way.

Bryn has it really been ten… Years…? No, that's not true! I saw her! Yesterday, or maybe it was a year ago… In the spring. She was there in the shop. She was very kind. You're lying to me! Bryn, why did you let them take our little girl?"

A horrible sob rose from her throat. She began to cry hysterically. Some of the story she remembered correctly. Some she was either making up or Maven had really drugged her own daughter. Her hands bunched into her hair, rocking back and forth, as she sobbed out the grief she'd never been able to express.

With dread and a sense of moving back in time, Brynjolf moved closer to her and opened his arms. She grabbed hold of him as if he were a lifeline. To him, it felt like a trap. A trap he'd been in before. But it was a sweet trap and it's funny how things you managed to forget are never really forgotten. Like the smell of her tawny hair that always reminded him of autumn. They way her long, lithe body fit so well against his. And the way, she'd assumed he could still be trusted. Brynjolf buried his face in her neck. The memories of the days when Ingun was his lass came back in an uninvited rush of the excitement of new love. As he inhaled, he remembered the stolen moments and long summer nights under the stars.

The maiden who gave herself to him, because she wanted her first time to be with someone she loved, not the man her mother picked out for her. He would remember that night as long as he lived. Their joining was no quick thrust behind a stack of logs or the fumblings of children in a darkened basement.

Brynjolf had made her a bed a pine needles, then carried a fine embroidered blanket he'd gotten from the one of the beds in the Bee and Barb (He'd stolen it actually, but he planned to give it back.)

Then with a bottle of the best wine he could afford he'd led her out there to watch the sunset. They drank the wine and tried not to be nervous. Brynjolf sliced an apple and some good cheddar cheese and they fed it to each other.

She laughed a little too loud at his dumb jokes. And perhaps they both drank a glass of wine too many. Well, Brynjolf had forgotten the glasses so they traded the bottle back and forth between them. They were easy together and she enjoyed the way he looked at her. Brynjolf basked in the intoxicating triumph that the prettiest girl in Riften wanted to be with him.

When it was almost too dark to see each other Brynjolf followed a bite of apple with a kiss. It was their first real kiss and it tasted of ripe apples, crisp white wine and innocent desire. If Brynjolf was nervous and didn't know what to do with his hands, that was okay, because she held him so tight he couldn't move anyway. Moreover, kissing her was taking all his concentration, until the problem with what to do with all the clothes they were wearing finally became an issue.

Then it wasn't an issue at all and they came together with loving abandon. If he hurt her a little, she squeezed her eyes shut and kissed him harder. If a tear slid down her cheek, he kissed it away.

Ingun gave him the gift of her body with the heart of a woman who knows she's with the right man. Brynjolf gave her the gift of his heart without fear, because he knew, when his body filled her with his seed and he cried out against her breasts, that there would never be another woman for him.

It's years later and holding her weeping body took him back to those innocent days. That innocence lasted a spring and a summer and then came the day she told him she was with child. It was the day they both grew up and knew the innocence had ended. They were both afraid, with good reason, of her mother's reaction.

They made crazy plans to run away, but there was no escaping her mother. They knew it was only a matter of time before Maven found them out. Maven Black-Briar had big plans for her daughter. If she'd known her precious Ingun was pregnant by a bastard journeyman thief, she'd have had them both killed. They took what precautions they could manage and Ingun hid the pregnancy under her clothes and spent as much time as possible away from her mother working on her potions.

They were lucky Ingun was so small and with winter coming on she could layer more clothes. It was really just plain luck that no one noticed her pregnancy. At night, they'd talk about a name and if it might be a boy or a girl. She would learn to be a real alchemist, and Brynjolf a master thief. They would raise their child together. They pretended it would last and that someday, although they really hadn't figured out how, they'd live together like a real family.

Then one night word came to him that her pains had begun. With Nura and Vex by his side, they met a terrified Ingun in the Warrens. Twelve hours later a daughter was born. When Nura laid the child in his arms, something came to life inside Brynjolf. It was a love only a parent can know. A mystery revealed only in the eyes of your child. No amount of wealth or material objects mattered as much as this little bundle wrapped in a dirty piece of linen. He felt so much love for his daughter and yet deep unyielding pain. He knew at that moment she couldn't stay with them. Little did he know that it would be much worse.

Finally, Ingun took a deep breath and pulled back. Brynjolf wiped her face with the heels of his hands.

"Bryn please let me stay here. I feel almost myself again. If you ever cared for me, please."

"Of course, I cared for you. I loved you. Why did you run away? You knew I couldn't keep Vika in the Warren's with me. I scarcely had a bed to myself in those days."

"I know. I know... Please forgive me."

"No, I can't forgive you. Not today. If I let you stay here, you must understand your presence places the entire Guild in danger. If your mother discovered you and decided to retaliate, she could have the guards down here in minutes. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Bryn. Thank you. I used to be your lass and now you won't you even use my name?"

"I'm sorry, I can't." He had nothing more to say to her. The story had a ring of truth to it. He knew all too well, what Maven was capable of, but he needed some answers first. When he saw that she had recovered her senses, he helped her settle back and covered her. She tried to take his hand again, but he slipped away from her.

Delvin rubbed his chin and eyed him up and down when Brynjolf reentered the Ragged Flagon.

"That was real touching, boss. I say we move her to that fancy house of yours. We'll take her through the Warrens, to the docks, and right in your back door. It's not right, you bringing that kind of trouble down here. We're cursed as it is. Why bring more bad luck down on us now?"

Brynjolf rounded on Delvin, "Oh, aye. I see how it is. You'll be blaming everything on me now."

"I'll bloody well blame you if your ruttin' ways brings what's left of the Guild down around our ears." Delvin shoved his finger accusingly into Brynjolf's face.

"My what? How'd you like a taste of my fist, old man?"

"Bah! I whipped you regular when you was a pup and I can do it again. If only you'd think with your wits instead of your cods.

Brynjolf launched himself at the larger man. They landed together on one the tables, cutlery, and a bottle of Argonian Bloodwine went flying. The bottle smashed against the wall and wine dripped slowly down the wall staining the moss-coated stones.

Brynjolf jumped to his feet and swung at Delvin's jaw with his fist. The impact knocked the older man back. Delvin wiped the blood away from his split lip and laughed.

"Who the 'ell you thinks been keeping this place together while you was out chasing skirt and selling yer fake potions? Me and Vex, that's who.

"Take that back, old man. I pull my weight around here, same as you." Brynjolf lowered his head and charged at Delvin.

Delvin used his heavier frame to lift by Brynjolf by the leather stays of his armor and tossed him into a stack of barrels and sacks.

Brynjolf bounced and hit the floor hard. Winded and groaning in pain, he struggled to his feet, blocking the next blow from his opponent, before roaring defiance, and charging again at the man who taunted him.

Delvin stepped to the side and kicked his feet out from under him. "Bollocks. The truth of it is, you've brought your personal business to work, and now you're taking it out on me.

Brynjolf came up quickly and circled around the older man waiting for his moment.

Brynjolf felt rage take control of his actions. He was angry and this was an outlet. Maybe Delvin would kill him, then he could be done with all of it; the pressure of the failing Guild, his growing suspicion of Mercer Fray and the life he could never have with a girl who wasn't for him. And back there in an alcove, the neatly compartmentalized emotions of the most painful memories that was Ingun Black-Briar.

The only reason he bothered to look down at his hand, was Delvin's eyes widened and he lowered his arms to his sides.

"Lad, you don't know what you're doing. Put the knife up."

He hadn't even realized the dagger was in his hand. Brynjolf turned the knife to sheath it and take the beating he knew he deserved.

The crack of a bullwhip sounded behind them. Quick as a skeever the end wrapped around Brynjolf's ankles and tripped him. Brynjolf went down like a felled tree and didn't move again.

Mercer had used a bullwhip to stop the fight. He walked out of the shadows coiling the leather end around his arm.

"What the is wrong with you, Brynjolf? Get the hell up. We have work to do. Starting with getting Ingun out of here… Get up. Bryn?

It was Etienne and Rune who turned him over. Delvin groaned as if he were the one with the knife sticking out of his ribs.

Vex went into action. "I'll get one of the children to listen for news about Ingun's whereabouts. If anyone starts speculating or if that damn Mjoll decides to start a search, we're humped. If Maven finds out we're hiding her daughter down here none of us are safe. Well, get him off the floor! Why are you just standing there?"

"Good thinking, Vex. Thank you." Mercer commented as he bent to lift the unconscious Brynjolf off the cold slimy floor.

~oOo~


	9. Fill Another Room in Hell

* * *

"I will not flee, though death-fated you know I am. I was not conceived as a coward. I will have all of your loving advice as long as I live."

—Sigurd to Brynhild, The Saga of the Volsungs

* * *

The Ragged Flagon rang with the shouts of the two angry men.

"Do you have a plan for the Guild, Mercer? If that man dies, we'll need a plan," Delvin shouted into Mercer's face, spittle spraying over the other man's face.

To his credit, Mercer Frey simply dragged a sleeve over his face. Then he shook his head like an angry bull and charged into Delvin.

Delvin caught him easily and dropped him into a chair. Mercer might be a big man, but Delvin had been handling men for much longer. As his backside landed in the chair with a thump, for the first time Delvin saw the man's eyes widen. With fear? Was that fear?

Mercer Frey's eyes darted to the one of the alcoves. Delvin marked the action, keeping the memory for later investigation. Delvin watched him closely. Keep at him, he thought. See what else I can shake out of the bastard.

"You're the one who'll have his death on your hands. Using that ridiculous bullwhip on him! Just having a friendly brawl we was. Nothing we ain't done a hundred times or more."

"What's done is done, Delvin. The Guild needs new blood. Maybe it's time for changes," Mercer said, shoving his fingers through hair and straightening his leather tunic. Then Delvin saw the other man's eyes shift again.

~O~

Ingun Black-Briar poured herself a cup of tea and slipped quietly out the back door to sit on the balcony of Honeyside house. An endless week of rain had done nothing to improve her general mood. Today, the sun had come out and she was determined to enjoy as much of the nice weather as possible. After nursing Brynjolf for two weeks, she's exhausted and emotionally drained. Brynjolf had finally fallen into a restful sleep and she needed a break.

She tried to relax by watching the last rays of the sun cast long shadows over Lake Honrich. Although her mother's estate is visible across the water, there is no accompanying feeling of anxiety and for that, she is thankful. There are only a few good memories for her there. Most of them are of the times when Brynjolf and she managed to sneak away and meet in the sewer under the house. She smiled at the memory of those romantic meetings in, of all things, a sewer.

Brynjolf often brought her presents back then. Small, inexpensive things he thought she might enjoy. A bouquet of wildflowers, an interesting rock, or other mineral. She couldn't take them to the house, of course, so she hid them in a strong box. She wondered if it were still there.

Ingun let her head fall into her hands.

They'd brought him here two weeks ago after the fight with Delvin ended with Brynjolf falling on his own dagger. Two weeks of watching the strongest, bravest man she knew fade away. And the helpless feeling that there was nothing within her power to do about it. Removing the knife and staunching the blood had been the easy part. The wound putrefied and a chest infection, accompanied by fevers was taking him on a slow journey to The Divines.

Every day, that he lost ground, her head cleared and the memories returned. She was no healer, but she could make a few good potions. He would obediently drink them, tease her about being a good cook and rally for a few hours. They talked during those times. He told her about the day Vika was adopted and taken away. Then he'd comfort her by promising when he was well again, they could try to find her. They rediscovered the easy comfort they'd known together. While he patiently filled in the gaps of her memories, she cared for him and saw to his needs.

It was on a bright sunny morning, they finally found the words to forgive each other. Sitting on the porch together, he had reached across the table and laced his fingers with hers. Then he'd smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"There's that smile I remember." He'd pulled her to her feet and into his embrace.

They'd stayed that way for a long time while he hummed an old tune to her, and rocked them back and forth.

Then a fever would take him away again. She'd sit with him and slip some broth between his cracked lips. One week ago, his breathing became labored and there were crackling noises deep in his chest. When the fever raged he's incoherent. She can't make out most of his mutterings, but occasionally he called for someone named Brinda. As she tries to relieve the fever with a cool cloth, she noticed his skin had taken on a gray tone.

From his place on the bed, which had become part prison and a coffin, Brynjolf watched Ingun slip out the door. As his illness took over, her health improved daily and the dull haunted look faded from her eyes. He can hardly credit what Ingun says happened to her. Maven is nothing if not ruthless. Even if it meant sacrificing a member of her own family. She would stop at naught, to get what she wanted.

For many years, they'd been a mystery to each other. First, she'd run away after Vika was born, then mysteriously returned a changed person. The smiles and easy manner were gone. She didn't speak to anyone and when he tried to get her to talk. She would stare at him vacantly and mumble something about her experiments.

To the people of Riften, she became the eccentric woman who lived below in Helgim's Elixirs. Children made up stories about her. Occasionally, there was the odd bit of gossip. Riften was full of eccentric people, it was part of its charm, and no one cared to change a thing. To the journeyman thief Brynjolf it represented the first failure of his young life, the first mystery he couldn't solve and the first time a woman broke his heart.

As time went by and he became more involved with the Guild, there was less time to seek her out. Eventually, he had to give up trying to reconnect with her. He placed little Vika in the orphanage and visited her whenever he could. While Ingun disappeared into the alchemy shop and spoke to no one. If there had been someone at work behind the scenes making sure that's exactly what happened, the young lovers never suspected. Now that they know the truth, it is too late. A pointless brawl with a man he respected and a stupid accident was about to end his life.

She raised her head and listened to Brynjolf coughing.

"Ingun!" he called to her over the violent hacking, his voice strained and hoarse.

She set her mug down and hurried back into the house, to find Brynjolf trying to get out of bed. The endless coughing and fevers had weakened him and he could hardly stand without help. Unable to tell if he were trying to use the bucket, or delirious again, she hurried around the bed.

With a cry of anguish, Ingun stumbled backwards with her hand over her mouth. Against the crisp white of Brynjolf's nightshirt were the frothy blood-laced results of his coughing.

At that terrible moment, a plan began to form in her mind. Ingun's resolve strengthened. She could not stand by and watch this man die. She is her mother's daughter, after all. Ingun forced a smile, helped him change his shirt and drawers, and got him back into bed.

"I'll get you some tea. Do you think you could eat some bread, or maybe some apple tart?" Then she looked into his eyes and her hard won courage and bravado deserted her. She covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, Bryn… I'm so sorry… I can't…"

"Hush. You've done all you can. I'm at peace and I've spent time with you when I thought when I thought I'd never know you again. I heard from Delvin that Sabrinda is doing well and making a name for herself, mostly by terrorizing the dragon population of Skyrim. She's a bonny lass, she is," he chuckled at the memory of the little girl with the rusty old sword, and fierce, quick courage.

Watching his face intently for signs of fever, she didn't miss the change in his expression when he spoke of this woman named Sabrinda. She realized, this must be the 'Brinda he spoke of in his fevered state.

"You love her." It wasn't a question.

He fell back against the pillows. "I guess I do. I canna lie to you about it. But she's not for me, Ingun and that's the end of it."

He reached for her with some of the old charm in his eyes, "Come here. Let me feel you in my arms again."

Ingun removed her surcoat and slipped off her soft boots. Then, with a shy smile, she moved up on the bed and stretched out next to Brynjolf's weakened frame. He drifted his fingers through her hair. When he felt her relax, he swallowed hard against the emotion and said what had to be said.

"It's all set with the Jarl. When I'm gone, this house will be yours. The Jarl will protect you from your mother. Don't ask me how. There's no time to explain. If it's your wish to work in the castle, there'll be a place made for you."

Ingun rested her head against his chest and watched the flickering fire in the kitchen. She tried to block his words from her mind. She should get up and bank the fire. She should get up and make Brynjolf take his dose of healing potion. Instead, she rested her arms on his chest and turned her face up to his.

"I don't deserve that from you. Thank you. Bryn, I want you to know... I never stopped loving you."

"Aye, lass. I love you, too. For as long as the aurora of colors hang in Skyrim's night skies. Forever, my tawny girl."

With his large hand, he pressed her head back down. He didn't want Ingun to see him lose control. The tears began to slide down his face as he reflected on how his life of crime prevented him from finding this kind of contentment. He would only know the love of a good woman, at the very moment of losing it.

Ingun waited until he dozed off before she dragged a shawl over her shoulders and went in search of her mother. Maven understood a good business deal. If she could be convinced to save Brynjolf's life, by bringing in a proper healer, then Ingun would promise to get the Thieves Guild and her daughter back under her control. She didn't think her mother could resist the offer.

After covering the shivering man with another blanket, Ingun slipped outside, walking quickly around the north edge of the lake to the bridge, which would take her across to her mother.

Brynjolf shifted uneasily and mumbled something. His fists opened and closed several times. Finally, he fell back to sleep.

Skyrim's long twilight had diffused the sunny day with a blue glow, when Brynjolf's eyes suddenly snapped open. He sucked in a breath and coughed deeply. Reaching out to grasp something only he could see. His eyes darted around the room as if searching for something. He called out, "'Brinda! I'm sorry, lass. Sorry I failed you... Be… better… than me…"

His face crumpled, his hands fell to the bed, and he dropped back to the pillows. With a groan that shook his body, he went very still. With his eyes fixed again on some distant point, his face relaxed and he smiled.

"Is that you, my little Vika?"

Then his great heart finally gave up its battle to keep him alive, and the master thief, Brynjolf of Riften died alone in his bed.

~oOo~


	10. A Thousand Natural Shocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Please read. For those of you who followed the story, all chapters have been rewritten. So when you have some extra time it would great if you went back and read the edited pages. Let know how you like it.

* * *

"The art of healing comes from nature, not from the physician. Therefore the physician must start from nature, with an open mind."  —Paracelsus

* * *

The Dragonborn realized, as she stood before the gates Riften again, that she'd couldn't clearly remember the last time she'd been here. In the shelter of the stable, she stripped the tack off Tyven. While her movements were unhurried and thoughtful, she reflected the only reason she's here at all is a summons from Mercer Frey. She hasn't decided if she's ready to face Brynjolf. Which is why she's wasting time with her horse. The groom hovered over her, insistent about doing his job, while she impatiently waved him away. Eventually, Sabrinda is satisfied the horse is settled and walked slowly toward the gates.

One of the guards tossed her a salute, "There's big doin's," he nodded toward the gate. "Not sure what about, but I did hear them mention Brynjolf."

Sabrinda stopped, eyeing the guard with sharp eyes, "What kind of doings? What are you talking about? Is he injured?"

"Couldn't say."

Were these city guards ever serious? Yes, she thought, when it came to time to throw you in jail. They were serious about that.

"Then let me pass." Sabrinda reached for the large wooden handle, but the guard stepped in front of her.

"Wait a minute. Last time, you promised I could show you my scar. You show me yours and I'll show you mine, eh?" He winked at her. "One adventurer to another."

"Stand aside."

Sabrinda was thinking of ways to use her magic to get the door open that wouldn't also lead to her arrest when the gate suddenly opened, startling them both.

Rune stepped out. "Hey, it is you. Mercer says get to the…" he glanced at the guard. "Just come with me, Sabrinda."

Rune took off at a trot back into the town. She followed and tried to talk to him while they ran.

"The guard said something about Brynjolf. What is he talking about?"

"Well, you didn't hear it from me. But he's real sick. Him' n Delvin got into it and Brynjolf fell on his own knife. Come on, Mercer said bring you now."

The town, quiet and still, in the early twilight feels wrong to her. There would be people out purchasing food for supper. Merchants making last minute sales and preparing to close their stalls. Townsfolk wishing each other good night. The scent of grilling meat from the Bee and Barb. Instead, it's so quiet, she can hear the sound of water lapping at the wooden structure below. Even the blacksmith's fire is quiet. The silence unnerves her.

Sabrinda stopped at the entrance to the market square. Every instinct burns for attention. Every sense heightened as she scanned the area. The hair on the back of her neck rises, when across the square she sees Delvin walking slowly with his hands deep in his pockets. Has she ever actually seen him outside? Her feet are walking before her brain thinks of the movement. Delvin stopped by a merchant's stall and she watched him fall to a bench.

"Delvin," Sabrinda slides to a stop next to the veteran thief. Then she sees his creased face and red-rimmed eyes. He blinked slowly, focused on her face and held out his arms to her.

Brynjolf!

"Ah, there you are." It was Mercer Frey walking up behind her. He'd stepped out of the shadows and caught her by the arm before she could turn back toward Honeyside. "Got a big job for you. Actually, it'll be the two of us. We're going after an old colleague of mine."

"I have to see Brynjolf first." Sabrinda said, and leaned away from him, he yanked her close.

"Forget about him. He's fine. What's this one been telling you?" He asked, angling his head toward Rune. "He's over at Honeyside enjoying the charms of Ingun Black-Briar. A little crazy for my tastes, but there you go. Now grab whatever you need and let's move out."

"Delvin! Talk to me!"

This time he grabbed her by the hair. "I'm not planning to ask you again. Brynjolf is fine. Now move!"

"Fus!" She shouted, just loud enough to get him to let go of her and knock him back a pace.

She must get to Honeyside. Backing away from the startled, angry men she began to run. Every single guard from the market square to Honeyside tried to stop and chat with her. Bersi hailed her from the door of the Pawned Prawn, he's got that shipment of spell books in. Does she want to look at them? Her booted feet make a staccato sound as she runs along the wooden walkways. The bridge! She dodges a guard crossing from the other direction. He tries to grab her too.

"Trouble?" He asks peering at her through the eye slits of his helmet.

She doesn't ask herself who's telling the truth. Something is wrong and for Delvin to behave in such an odd manner is cause enough for concern. The last bridge, the last corner, and she's standing in front of the door to Honeyside House. She'll use her Thu'um to shout the door down if she has to.

The door slammed open, bouncing against the wooden wall and rocking in its leather hinges. Sabrinda entered the house, striding purposely through the kitchen, discarding her weapons as she goes. Her gloves and helmet landed unheeded on the floor as she dropped to her knees next to the bed.

"Brynjolf?" Sabrinda shook his shoulders. "Brynjolf!

She threw herself on him to listen for signs of life. His lips are blue-tinged and slack. There's no breath on her cheek. The vibrancy and the sharp wit are silent. The large, strong hands that taught her to trust a gentle touch lay slack on the green coverlet.

"Oh Gods, no." She sobbed and felt a scream rising in her throat. "Please."

Skyrim is a dangerous place to live. More people died from injury and infection than in battle or childbirth. The harsh winters took a few children and old people every season. Spells and potions went a long way toward sustaining life, but nothing could replace damaged organs or lungs ravaged by infection.

Sabrinda had seen her share of death. Watching a dragon rear up for the last time, snarling in rage, when he knows he's dying. Many had died at the tip of her sword or by a quick, well-placed arrow from her fiery enchanted bow. The sounds of their anguished screams as they died and the smell stayed with her.

The deathly stillness was so unnatural to him she knew it wasn't possible. He had too much life left to live and they needed each other.

Then she remembered something she'd witnessed in Riverwood when a young girl had fallen into the river. A mage had pulled her out of the water. They all thought she was dead. They knew she was dead. There's no sign of life in her limp body. The mother cried out, reaching for her daughter, but the mage would not hand her over. Instead, he'd laid the child on the ground and inexplicably struck her chest with his fist.

No one could believe their eyes and they gasped in shock at the disrespect. Then suddenly the child began coughing up water and whimpering for her mother.

Sabrinda clenched her fist and dropped it like a hammer on Brynjolf's chest.

"Don't leave me," she whispered a broken-hearted plea.

With her palms together, she wove a Grand Healing spell. The light of her power radiated from her hands to his body. She could do this, she'd healed companions, children, and guards.

Nothing.

She repeated the blow to his chest and the powerful master spell, three times to no effect. Finally, exhausted and depleted, she collapsed on the bed cursing her inadequacy.

He couldn't really be dead. She just couldn't believe it was true. Her hand found his and she wept out her grief. Sabrinda prayed to the Divines, made vows to the God of the Cycle of Birth and Death, known as Arkay, anything, so they might intervene.

"Great Arkay, you brought this man into the world, please find him worthy enough to remain here. He is greatly loved and has much work left to do. Hear me, Arkay."

In the quiet house, where the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and Sabrinda's weeping a change began to take place. Spent of magic and prayers, her weeping quieted when she felt a hand touch her. There was no one behind her, but she felt the weight of the hand on the top of her head. Long fingers spread gently over her hair. Then a light, which seemed to grow of its own accord, filled the small bedroom. A deep voice, which spoke of the ages, rumbled across the room.

Dragonborn, do not weep. I hear your prayers. Your healing spells, and brave deeds bring much good to the people of Skyrim. With your help, we will vanquish the foes from our land. Therefore, my worthy daughter, we shall halt the spiraling cycle of this one's death. You shall not lose the man you love so well.

The voice faded. The room grew dark again. Sabrinda opened her eyes and raised her head. Had she fallen asleep? How much time had passed, she wondered.

Warm fingers, renewed with strength, curled around hers. The chest under her cheek began to rise and fall with life.

She witnessed her miracle unfold as she watched breath fill ravaged lungs. Cracked lips tried to form words. The familiar voice came out raw and sore.

"Who's here? Ingun?"

Sabrinda sat up and touched his bearded cheek. She ran her fingers over his eyes, "Open your eyes and see for yourself."

A grin split his face before he even opened his eyes. Then he did, and there she was, "It's my little lass, come from her grand adventures. I thought I had passed into the light, 'Brinda what have you done?"

"I healed you, but I think I had some help ‒ I studied at the College ‒ They actually they made me the Head of the College, which is ridiculous ‒ All I did was find a few books ‒ learn a few spells ‒ kill a dragon in the courtyard." Her emotions caught up with her and ended her rush of words. "Oh, Brynjolf! You're alive!"

"And you're exhausted. I can see it. You must have ridden for many hours. Get rid out of that filthy armor… Your armor is always dirty. Do ye no ken how to clean it? Have I taught you nothing?"

He fussed over her, unbuckling the leather straps and finally pulling her down next to him. He wrapped her in a blanket and made her lay down on top of the blankets. "Now lay down beside me and rest. Ingun is around here somewhere."

"I will only sleep if you promise not to die. Do you promise?"

"Aye, lass, I promise. Now sleep." Finally, able to do more than gasp and cough, Brynjolf rolled onto his side and spooned himself around the girl who had just saved his life.

"You're a good lass. Thank you, 'Brinda. I owe you my life."

A rush of emotions welled up in the young woman. She'd seen him dead and brought back to life. She'd seen a miracle. The best miracle of all was the strength of his arm around her, his breath on her hair and the response of his fingers when she placed her hand in his.

"And I owe you mine, she whispered before falling into an exhausted sleep."

Ingun was still not back by morning, when Sabrinda rolled carefully away from Brynjolf. The smell of sickness was gone. A healthy glow infused his sunken cheeks and his breathing is quiet. She whispered a quick prayer of thanks for this second chance and vowed it would not go to waste.

Sabrinda retraced her steps, donning her weapons and armor as she headed out to the planked walkways of Riften. Faster and faster, she walked until by the time her feet were on the grass, she was running and didn't stop until she ran straight into Nura Snow-Shod's startled embrace.

"He's alive, Nura! I tried to heal him myself. I think… I think… Arkay heard my prayers. I felt a presence… he spoke to me!"

"Truly a miracle, child. Ingun must be overjoyed."

The Dragonborn's face sobered and she pulled away from the priestess. "Who is Ingun, priestess? I noticed a woman's touch in the house. He called for her."

"Long ago, Ingun and Brynjolf were lovers. Maven Black-Briar put a stop to it and they have not spoken in more than ten years. The story has it that Maven drugged her daughter to control her and get her away from Brynjolf. Maven had big plans for that girl. A dozen suitors lined up to court the girl, with two dozen schemes to increase her power and land holdings by marrying off her daughter. You've met her down in the alchemy shop."

Sabrinda nodded slowly with a growing understanding. She began to remember things she'd noticed in the small house. There had been a woman's comb on the table, the tidy kitchen, Brynjolf clean and obviously well cared for, and the scent of fresh flowers adding a cheerful touch to the small eating table.

Ingun must be the why he purchased Honeyside. She must also be the reason he had called her name when he awakened.

He didn't need her anymore. No matter her own feelings, she would not allow herself to stand in the way of that man's chance at happiness. With a last hug, dry-eyed Sabrinda took her leave of Nura Snow-Shod and walked out the main gate of Riften.

At the stables, Tyven snorted a greeting. Sabrinda swung aboard the dappled-gray's broad back and kicked him into a run. She galloped him through the autumnal forest until there was nothing familiar around her but the dark cage of trees. Then she pulled Tyven to a stop and buried her face in his mane.

~oOo~


	11. Faith Then They Vowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: References to child abuse, both sexual and physical. So for any readers who have experienced these circumstances, I wish you peace and good health. Write fanfiction (wink)

* * *

"Faith then they vowed  
Fast, unyielding,  
There each to each  
In oaths binding.  
Bliss there was born  
When Brynhild woke;  
Yet fate is strong  
To find its end."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Legend of Sigurd & Gudrún_

* * *

Mercer Frey discovered her hiding place in the woods by following her tracks in the snow. She'd ridden into the woods to find some solitude after learning the truth about Ingun and Brynjolf. She didn't much care for the way he ordered her to meet him at Snow Veil Sanctum, but he was the head of The Guild. She had accepted certain responsibilities toward the Guild, so with a numb heart she agreed. She didn't much care what it was all about.

The journey to the Sanctum had given her time to think. Time to remember that she was alone in this world. The role thrust upon her by the people of Skyrim isolated her further. It would be all right. Staying alone and hiding was how she stayed away from her father's drunken rages. That method would serve her well here, too.

When she arrived there was a small camp close to the entrance and she put it to use. She would leave food as trade for using the camp.

That night, curled inside the bedroll, before the dreams caught up with her, she wondered how many years she would sleep alone under the stars. Until she was old and grey? Until a bandit snuck up on her while she slept.

When the moons were high in the clear night sky, the dreams came for her again. Wild twisting scenes where a dragon circled over her head — calling to her — teasing her to catch him. Reaching automatically for her weapons, Vilkas suddenly appeared and stopped her by distracting her with a kiss. His mouth on hers made her feel giddy and boneless like when she'd drank too much ale. His hands somehow slipped under her armor and over her body, the sensations made her want to fly high as a dragon.

The dragon roared passed her and Vilkas, breaking them apart. When she turned back to look at him, her shield brother had disappeared only to be replaced by a vision of Brynjolf. He reached for her, calling her his lass. She tried to move toward his outstretched arms, but the dragon intervened again. This time she found herself in the back of a wagon. A blond man with kind blue eyes was speaking to her, 'a Nord's last thoughts should be of home' he said. His name was Ralof and he'd held her hand as he led her toward the broken down tower in Helgen to escape the dragon.

A night and a day passed before the sound of galloping hooves roused her from her spiraling thoughts. She glanced up from the campfire with her hands reaching instinctively to her bow. She may have moved her hands without thinking, but it caught her attention all the same. When had this happened? When had reaching for her weapon become her first reaction, making the assumption there's a fight or something bad or deadly coming her way happened? When had the scared girl become a fighter?

It had been Vilkas' training and unrelenting insistence that she get it right every time she unsheathed her sword. Brynjolf's patient words and hours of practice when he took her out to a hill overlooking Faldar's Tooth to use the bandits as target practice. It was the hours Farkas allowed her to pound on him while she learned to use her fists. And Aela's proud smile each time her aim improved with her bow. Each time she arrived back in Whiterun, the Companions would make her practice with any new weapon she carried. Above the Jorrvaskr, in the Skyforge, Earland taught her how to forge her own weapons and how to improve them.

In a quick decision of tactics, Sabrinda mounted Tyven in two strides. They made a better fighting team with her on his back. He snorted and bounced on his feet.

"Easy, Tyven. Easy, boy." What made him uneasy? Unusual for him to react to even an ice wraith, something in the sound of what headed toward them was unsettling him. Sabrinda turned Tyven in that direction, then quietly and efficiently notched an arrow and drew back the bow.

She heard Mercer Frey's cursing before the horse he was beating with a crop charged into the clearing. With a flick of her heels, Sabrinda maneuvered Tyven in front of the frightened mare. Mercer's horse skidded to a jarring halt, throwing Mercer over her head, crashing to the ground. The stallion snorted, stood square, never moving until the mare regained her footing.

"I'll feed you to the wolves, you filthy goat!" He dragged himself off the ground heedless of the snow clinging to him and raised his arm. The mare stood shivering next to the protective wall of Tyven.

Apparently, not even the sight of the Dragonborn in a full suit of engraved Nordic armor, astride a dappled-grey stallion would stop Mercer Frey from beating a defenseless animal. She made a mental note to work on her image. Maybe she'd use some of the wode on her face like Mjoll the Lioness. Aela's facial markings were certainly striking. Maybe maybe not. Sabrinda flipped the catch on the scabbard with her thumb.

The moment his arm came down to strike, Sabrinda used the flat of her blade to knock the whip from his hand. Down in the snow he went, the whip flew out of his reach. Spitting with rage, he stood with hands balled into fists.

"You bitch!"

"I've really tried to learn to respect you, Mercer. For Delvin, Vex, Brynjolf's and even Vekel's sake. I really have. But if you call me a bitch again, or strike that mare again, we'll have a go at it. Is that your wish?"

"Shut up and let's get inside this damn Sanctum. I'm not interested in your moralizing and certainly not any threats you might express. Business is business, now let's go."

After retrieving the whip, Sabrinda tied the horses to a nearby tree branch. The exhausted mare's nose almost touched the ground as her shivering subsided. The young woman gave the horse a pat and loosened the girth. She knew Tyven would watch out for her. With a last check of her gear, Sabrinda followed Mercer Frey down the wooden steps to the entrance.

The outer door was locked. Now that was odd. It was rare to find the outer doors to these types of places locked. Before she could say anything or retrieve a lockpick from the pouch on her belt, Mercer opened the door with a key. Also, odd. Now where had that key come from?

Inside the sanctum it was just as dark and cold as she imagined. After hours of walking through long dark corridors and climbing slippery slimy steps with one trap after another, Mercer finally reacted, "This is her doing! It's Karliah who reset these traps."

"Don't be afraid, Mercer." She commented, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. He wisely chose not to comment, but hurried through the now harmless trap she'd sprung for him.

The Dragonborn wasn't afraid there's nothing she couldn't handle down here. One cave looks very much like another sanctuary, which looks very much like a temple. Draugr are draugr, after all. A shouting match with a Draugr Lord is always good sport.

It's Mercer Frey who has her instincts alerted. He's more or less forced her to take point at every turn. That's fine, too. Most of the time she fights alone. It's his chatty manner and the odd pitch to his voice that's making her suspicious. She takes a sip of water, and notches her bow, readying herself for whatever comes down the next hallway and Mercer too, if it comes to that.

The thief continued his nonsensical conversation as they stepped quietly around the next corner and into another hallway. Only it's not a hallway at all, but a cavernous room, with a ceiling so high it disappeared into the shadows. There's movement ahead and she turns to see if Mercer saw it too. Something bumps her right thigh. Hard. She stumbles, recovers and with her bow pulled taut she whirls to face whatever is behind her.

Why is everything happening in slow motion? The air around her shimmers and seems too thick to breathe. Her eyes see several things happening at once, but her brain cannot process them fast enough.

A woman's voice attracts her attention and she turns toward the sound. A dark elf is speaking and moving toward them. Is this Karliah? A sudden pressure on her left shoulder makes her jerk towards it, her right arm rising to hit her unseen opponent when an explosion of pain rips into her chest. The force of the attack resonated through her body like a blacksmith's hammer blow. Waves of pain radiate across her chest like the echoing sound of steel on steel.

The pressure on her shoulder disappeared as quickly as it began and she clattered to the ground, her breath rasping out as she struggled on her back to see her foe.

Mercer stood above her, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes, a bloody dagger clenched in his right fist.

Well, this is a surprise. She always thought she'd die burned to death by a dragon's fire, assassinated by a Falmer Agent or murdered by the Dark Brotherhood. Not bleeding to death in some forgotten underground dungeon at the hands of Mercer Frey and this strange dark elf who hovers at the edge of her vision.

Mercer knelt down next to her. "Nothing personal." He whispered his breath hot and fetid breath against her ear. "You are the juiciest little bit I've come across in a while." He grabbed her crotch and squeezed hard only to sigh sadly, and let go, "Too brawny for my taste. I guess Brynjolf likes his girls like men."

"Enough, Mercer. Do this on your own time." Just out of Sabrinda's view the dark elf's voice sounded flat and emotionless,.

He shrugged and released her. "Right as always, Karliah. Business is business. "Play time is over little girl. If you somehow manage to live through this and get tired of sharing Brynjolf with Ingun look me up. I'll show you some things even Brynjolf doesn't know about."

She makes one vow to herself before she loses consciousness, if Brynjolf does not kill that man first, she will personally tie Mercer to a tree and summon a blood dragon.

They are speaking quietly now. Straining to hear them, she cannot move, but she can hear their words. This is Karliah and what they are talking about shocks her. Brynjolf was right not to trust this man. If she lives through this, she would tell him why. That son of a hagraven has betrayed them all.

~O~

A snowstorm was blowing across her field of vision when Sabrinda opened her eyes. She's flat on her back inside a makeshift tent. Her shirt is open and she's shivering. Gentle hands smooth the skin over her left shoulder.

"Try not to move, Dragonborn. Mercer Frey is gone. You're safe."

It was the dark elf speaking to her. Sabrinda tried to sit up. How could she have survived his attack?

Karliah helped her to sit up and answered her silent questions after handing her a bowl of fish stew. She hated fish stew. Really hated it, but she was too hungry to argue the point.

"I shot you with a poisoned arrow that would slow down your bleeding until I could get to you. Sadly it was the last I had of it."

"Then I owe you my life and a pledge to replace the poison. I am good with potions. If you know the ingredients..."

Karliah was shaking her head. "It was too rare and too precious to replace. I consider it lost to a good cause. You can pay me back by taking down Mercer Frey."

"Gladly. What I heard in there, I'll have the entire Guild's help with it."

"No, Dragonborn. Travel back to Riften, share the news with Brynjolf and bring him to a secret place I will tell you about. Do you promise?"

Sabrinda couldn't say why, but she felt she could trust this woman. It surprised her that she was so quick to grant that trust. "I promise. Please call me Sabrinda." She realized it might be, much like her fighting skills, she'd learned to trust her instincts.

"Then I shall be honored to call you by your name. Sabrinda, I saw the scars on your back. I believe I guess correctly when I say this was the work of your father?"

Sabrinda nodded and looked away.

"I don't need to tell you to move on from that brutality, because I see you already have. Just don't carry the burden too long. Share it and it will lighten the weight on your heart."

"I understand, Karliah. Thank you... thank you. He...my father stayed drunk most of the time. I don't think he liked me very much... I don't know why he beat me. I never really knew why. I tried to be a good girl. Finally when I was old enough to take care of myself I ran away..."

"You did the right thing. Now tell me more about your home. I've never been to the Imperial City."

~O~

Spring is showing off her colors with fine weather as Sabrinda approached the gates of Riften. The mission with Mercer Frey had opened her eyes to what is really going in The Thieves Guild. So it's with a heavy heart she must speak to Brynjolf and report the information Karliah entrusted to her. There's still the matter of the amulet. And, she tells herself, she really wants to see if Brynjolf has fully recovered his health.

Brynjolf stood in the archway of the Temple of Mara and watched her enter the city gates. Here, he can watch her without being seen. The news traveled fast along the boards as the townsfolk carried the report of her arrival to him. The last time he'd seen her he was very ill. Somehow, she'd saved his life, then disappeared before he had the chance to properly thank the young woman. He intended to thank her properly now.

As he watched Sabrinda continue toward the market square, he sees there's not much of the young girl left in her. No more guarded looks or hesitation in her step. The intricately carved Nordic armor speaks of her travels and good fortune. He can see the glow of her enchanted bow and sword in the gloom of the main thoroughfare.

The guard standing next to him looked her up and down. Brynjolf reacted quickly to the guards low whistle and when he turned to Brynjolf, he received a warning shake of his head, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, lad."

As she gets closer, he noticed a bandage on her left hand and a small scar on her lower lip. Her left arm is in a sling. What is she doing out adventuring with an injured arm, he wonders, feeling immediately protective of her.

She feels eyes on her and turns toward the temple. When she sees him, she pulls her helmet off. He's still thinner than he was, but his cheeks are rosy and the smile genuine.

When she's close enough that he can hear her, "You look well, Brynjolf."

He takes a breath, because he is suddenly out of air. "It's good to see you, lass."

"It was a long winter."

"Aye, it was." He decided to tease her a bit. Mainly to keep his mind occupied and his hands off her. "And how is the Dragonborn?"

"She's quite well," Sabrinda responded in kind, but a smile tempted her lips. "Better armor than when you saw her last and well trained by the Companions. A new scar or two and a burned hand from a dragon attack. She misses her friend Brynjolf and hopes he recovered his health. There is important information she must share with him."

"Can't business wait for a few minutes? You saved my life. Do you think the Dragonborn might allow me to thank her properly?"

Sabrinda looked at him from under her lashes. She wished she'd taken time to wash up before coming into town. At least combed her hair out.

"I believe she would like to be thanked properly. But, first she has questions and some things are troubling her. There's one thing in particular, she's unsure of."

"Unsure? Is it something I can help with?"

She pulled the Mara amulet from inside her shirt. It made a ringing sound when it slid across her armor.

"Yes, I think you can. Someone gave me this as a gift. I wrote him a letter concerning his intentions, but he never answered me."

By the Nine, she has grown up, the thief realized dragging in another breath. "Perhaps he was unsure of the response? Or feared she was lost to him for good."

"I understand that." She removed her gauntlets and dropped them into her helmet. "So I thought… I'd just come back to Riften and find out for myself. To see if you were okay. If the answer is no, then I'll return this valuable gift so that he may present it to a more deserving woman… to Ing… To someone else."

"That's not possible, lass." Brynjolf shook his head and moved toward her. She's worried about Ingun, he reasoned. That's it. Nura had told him what happened. He's wondered, all along, if that was why she left town without saying goodbye.

"I thought you and Ingun… Never mind. Here, you should take this," she said and removed it from her neck.

He's shaking his head again and stopping her hands to lower the chain back to her shoulders.

"I know what you saw, lass. If you'd stayed until I awoke I could have explained everything to you.

Sabrinda took a step closer, she wanted to hear those words from him. Words which let her know he wanted her, not Ingun. Then what? She remembered the night Vilkas kissed her. That was the extent of her knowledge. She did not doubt Brynjolf would be patient with her. It would be so good to have someone to come home to. Strength to put her back against when the nightmares come for her. Someone to live for.

"Because there is no more deserving woman than you, 'Brinda." Her eyes widened and she takes a step back. "Don't back away, lass. Not from me. You know I understand."

In response, Nordic armor and all, she threw herself against him. Joy suffused the moment of catching her. An unusual feeling filled his heart and he holds her as close as he can. It's a very strange thing when, after years of grimly hanging on to life, happiness finds a way in. Brynjolf picked her up in his arms and swung her around. Several townsfolk begin to clap. A passing guard mumbled something about getting a room.

Brynjolf framed her face with trembling hands. "Tell me quick, lass. You still wear the Amulet of Mara. Are you interested in me? For I am truly interested in you and would make you my wife."

Like the sun from behind a rain cloud, that smile appeared. He doesn't remember ever seeing her smile so happily. In his heart he makes a vow to give her something to smile about every day. He also promises himself to go slow with her. She's been badly frightened and learned to fear men. It is enough that she is back here in Riften and more importantly, that she came back on her own.

He wants to kiss her. To place that simple brand on her before these people. She's watching him and tilting her face up. Just one kiss.

How long has he waited for this moment? How many years has he stood alone in the world and now with one kiss she will be his. There will be a ceremony in the Temple, of course. Whatever she wants. Just now, in front of the people of Riften he will share this moment with them.

Delvin shouted for him across the graveyard. "Brynjolf! I must speak with you. Now!"

"Not now, old man," Brynjolf muttered. Then Delvin is behind him with a hand clapped to his shoulder. The older man spun him around.

"Come and see, Brynjolf. The treasure room, the chests… You must come!"

Sabrinda gripped Brynjolf's arms. "We must go with him, this could have something to do with the news I have for you about Mercer Frey."

"Lass, you know nothing about this."

"Listen to me. It has to do with Karliah!"

The mention of Karliah gained her his full attention. At a signal from Delvin the three separated, each heading to the hideout by different routes. By the time they met in the Ragged Flagon the entire Guild stood in front of the open doors of treasure room. Every chest was flung open and empty. Every valuable weapon gone, every soul gem and the entire bag of jewels. Sabrinda saw one septim on the ground and picked it up. She held it out to Brynjolf.

He was shaking his head, lips pulled back from his teeth in a sneer and a growing fury creasing his face. "Tell us the whole story, lass."


	12. "Ani L'Dodi, v'Dodi Li"

* * *

"In sweet converse call the righteous to thy side; learn a healing song while thou livest."

Hávamál, st. 120

* * *

 

_Mercer Frey is dead._

The phrase repeats itself in her head like a mantra.

The three of them arrive at Riften stables, their horses blown and dripping with sweat. Just as they turn toward the stables a traveling wagon turns in front of them and they stop for moment to let it pass. Brynjolf pulls his horse up next to Sabrinda and feels Brynjolf's hand on the small of her back. After the events at Snow Veil Sanctum and Rkngthand, she feels hollowed out and weary. It's a small gesture, but it warms her heart. She reaches around and squeezes his hand.

There's a woman on the wagon and she glances down at them, looks them up and down, noting their Nightingale armor, and puts her nose up in the air as to pretend they didn't exist.

"Will you move on, driver? These vagabonds with their faces hidden, are they thieves or those Khajiit sneaking into the city?"

"Neither ma'am. You're perfectly safe."

"I doubt that! I've heard about what's going on in this frozen wasteland. Why are you stopping here? Help me down! You don't think I'm going to walk all that way!? You'll have to help me carry my bags."

Brynjolf notes her fine silk and wool traveling garment. You wouldn't find that even in Solitude. What else might she be carrying, he ponders. Stops himself - some habits are hard to break - and gives Sabrinda a playful little push. "Let's go, lass. The path is clear."

The trio keep their Nightingale armor on long enough to enjoy the novelty of the look the guards give them. Then part company to enter the Thieves Guild separately.

Her steps are measured and thoughtful as Sabrinda enters the market square. In her pack are the Falmer's eyes. One she will sell to Delvin the other… who knows?

_Mercer Frey is dead._

They'd chased Mercer Fry through Rkngthand. Catching up with him in the great room with the statue of the snow elf. When the room began to fill with water, Brynjolf and Karliah had been below the statue struggling to stay afloat even as the rising water threatened to pull them under. They could have been swept under the statue. Lost under the staircase or against the ceiling. Then Mercer climbed the steps coming for her. She'd never seen him move so quickly. It was time to act. No hesitation. It must be now or Karliah and Brynjolf might drown!

"FUS, ROH, DAH"

He'd only screamed once as the force of her Thu'um threw him out across the water. He landed on one of the statue's stone hands. The sound of his back breaking was like stepping on dead twigs on dry ground. She watched him slip into the water. He never resurfaced. Another man dead at her hands. She'd gotten her revenge and it left the taste of ashes in her mouth.

Brynjolf and Karliah grabbed her hands and together they swam through the opening at the top of the cave. No time to catch their breath or congratulate themselves. The water breached the lip of the cave pouring into the opening seeking its own level. They ran like children. It was Brynjolf who laughed first, probably out of relief that this ordeal was over. With the traitor dead, the curse is lifted the Guild might flourish again. And, he thought, as he chases Sabrinda up the last set of stone stairs he knows just how to ensure their success.

The sky! Scrambling up the last steps they burst out of the cave together. Karliah gathered Sabrinda in her arms, in what she imagined was a motherly gesture. Sabrinda released herself into the comforting embrace.

"You did the right thing, Dragon...Sabrinda. Never doubt it."

"Aye, lass. You did. You saved us all from that greedy bastard's trickery. May he serve at the whim of Clavicus Vile for all time."

Excited to get back to Riften, they kicked their startled horses and set off at a gallop. Brynjolf and Karliah took turns riding next to Sabrinda. It was no small thing she'd done. They honored her silence, but stayed close by her side.

The memories fade and her focus returns to the market square. The familiar area seems different to her now. Brand-shei nods politely and greets her, "Ours is to smile at your passing landstrider," he says kindly. Modesi smiles and thanks her again for what she's done for him. Maven Black Briar watches her from the other side of Madesi's stall. Why are they all staring at her as if they don't know her? As if they were studying her like a new spell or potion recipe. She loses control of her thoughts again. She must get down to the Ragged Flagon. They are waiting for her. Sabrinda's feet won't move and she feels as though she's standing on shifting sand.

She's a dragonborn. An Imperial. She's a Stormcloak, a Companion, a member of the Thieves Guild and head of the Mage's College at Winterhold. Yesterday, she became a Nightingale. She has more money in her possession than anyone in Riften had probably ever seen in one place at one time. Delvin will give her an absurd amount of septims for this eye.

Enough to feed every beggar in every town for a year, she realizes. Enough to feed the growing number of children left homeless by the civil war. There's a certain kinship she feels for those children. There's the little girl in Windhelm who sleeps in the open and sells flowers to feed herself. Sabrinda always buys her flowers and fills her basket with all the food in her bag. There's the little girl in Whiterun who lives under the Gildertree and waits for her life to begin.

There are things she believes in and things she's learned to fight for. The scars on her back, reduced to one of the many experiences that make up the young woman known as Sabrinda Menenius. These are things she carries around with her just as she carries lockpicks, potions and her weapons.

Yet, for all her resources, septims and her pick of fine houses, she feels most at home in her narrow cot sleeping with her shield sisters. She has sisters and brothers, friends and soon… she will be a wife.

The sound of something she can't immediately identify begins to roar in her ears. Is it water? A dragon roaring from on high? Louder and louder until the people's voices, the mixture of accents, and their faces begin to swirl around her. There is a scream of denial rising in her throat and a reason to run. Her throat closes and the feet and hands begin to tingle. The ground shifts under her feet.

Then a vision of a face appears in front of her amidst the chaos of the market square. Her carefully built image crumbles at her feet as the woman's face solidifies in front of her. It's the finely dressed woman from the wagon and she's smiling. She has the courage now to face it and until this very second didn't realize it had been there all along.

Sabrinda pulls in a deep breath and removes the Nightingale helmet from her head.

"Hello Mother."

"Sabrinda, my love! There you are!" Her mother rushes forward to hug her, but stops and wrinkles her nose at her daughter's attire."

"What are you wearing, my love?"

"Why are you here?" Sabrinda's question is devoid of emotion.

"To take you home, of course."

Over her mother's shoulder Sabrinda notices a growing crowd of townsfolk watching them. There's Keerava, with a small group from the inn behind her. Even the merchants are silent as they stare. The guards stopped patrolling long enough to watch the scene unfold before them. Next to her, Brynjolf has suddenly appeared. Behind him, Karliah, Vex and Delvin walk up quietly.

Her mother pulls her by the shoulders to rn her attemtion to her. "Sabrinda, my princess. Please talk to me. Please."

Brynjolf and Devlin exchange a look. The stranger is speaking to Sabrinda as if she knows her. Then Sabrinda answers and Brynjolf decides then and there he doesn't like the sound of Sabrinda's voice. He pulls her back toward him and snugs her against his side. Whatever she must face, they will face together.

"Where is he? Is he with you?" Sabrinda asked, suddenly trembling. Her fear radiates from her and permeates Brynjolf's armor. Delvin's hand falls to the hilt of his sword. Vex's lips peel back from her teeth. It's not a smile.

"His cruelty was finally his downfall, my love. He tried to cheat an Argonian and the thing slit his throat. I've been looking for you for so long. You can come home now, Sabrinda. There's nothing more for us to fear."

"An Argonian is not a thing, Mother. They... never mind. This is my home now."

"Because of that ridiculous Dragonborn legend? Don't be silly. You know how these people are. So many superstitions, it's a wonder they can get out their own front door.

"It's not silly. These people are my friends. This man," she linked her arm through the man standing next to her. Brynjolf's shoulders squared with pride. "This man is Brynjolf and we plan to be married."

"You can't do that, Sabrinda." The woman moves toward her again. She didn't expect to find her daughter unchanged, but this is beyond her ability to comprehend. What would her carefully brought up daughter want with these country bumpkins. She has nothing in common with them.

"Yes, I can. It is long past time for you to belittle or shame me. This man has shown me more acceptance and understanding than either of you did in my entire life. I'm grown now and I've made a life for myself. I will stay here in Skyrim and continue the work I began and marry whom I love."

"'Brinda, who is this woman?" Asked Brynjolf, his instincts on alert. This situation feels bad. It's no good.

"Don't you recognize her Brynjolf?" Nura answered, who has also joined the crowd. Brynjolf doesn't like situations he's not in control of and spares only a quick glance at the priestess. She's shaking her head.

Greylod appears next to her mother, "A head full of dreams that's all she has. Don't know when she has it good neither. You could've stayed in the Imperial City, but you came back. Well, trash knows trash, I always say."

"No! I won't leave with you! Not again... I won't." Sabrinda backed away from the group her hand clutching the amulet. "You raised me to be a helpless little princess. The best of everything you always said. The best tutor, the finest clothes and the most expensive horse septims could buy. Yet, you never protected me from him."

"Sabrinda, that's enough. Show some respect! We don't speak of personal things in front of strangers." The woman held out her hand expectantly, obviously assuming Sabrinda would simply follow her. "Come, Sabrinda. There's plenty of good memories…"

"...These people are not strangers! You've never seen my back, have you, Mother? Never seen what he really did to me. You were always so blind!"

Sabrinda unbuckled the chest plate of her armor and yanked her linen shift down over her shoulders. "These are my memories of him!"

The woman cried out and covered her mouth with her hand. "What have these savages done to you?"

"They've given me friendship and love and..."

"Brinda!" Brynjolf spun her to him. "Who is this woman? Tell me!"

She's my mother. And...she's trying to make me go home with her. But I won't. I won't go… this time, this time...please don't let her take me...this time...Oh, no..."

Sabrinda's attention is drawn away and she turned in a circle as if noticing the buildings of Riften for the first time.

Grelod the Kind is standing behind her mother with an evil smirk on her face. Sabrinda sees hands reaching for her. She begins to back away as her face drains of color.

"'Brinda?" Brynjolf reaches for her, but she slips away and moves slowly, backing through the market square.

"No! No, don't let her take me away again. Please… Sabrinda… Sabrinda? Oh, Talos...That's not my name..." She whispered through tears and fell to her knees. Clinging to the railing with one hand and covering her face with the other. "Oh, Divines. I'm sorry...I didn't know...I'm sorry."

"What is going on here? Why is 'Brinda on the ground sobbing like a child?" Brynjolf rounds on the older woman, almost shouting in her face. She doesn't answer so Brynjolf follows 'Brinda to the ground and pulls her hand away from her face.

"Nothing you can tell me will change how I feel about you, lass. What is this about? What is this about your name?"

"Oh Brynjolf. You named me. You brought me toys on my name day. Beautiful handmade toys. Sometimes it was you and sometimes it was Delvin. I still have the wooden sword you made me.

I remember the Cistern. I fell in once and I remembered how scared you were. I remember you held me so tight. You were more scared than I was."

The shock of her words wets his own face, as one by one he recognizes her features. She has his eyes, both color and shape, his red hair and her mother's high cheekbones.

"Vika?" he chokes in an emotion filled whisper. "Is this my little Vika?"

"It's me, Da."

"You've come home to me, my beautiful little girl." He's kissing her tears away and holding her close as if he were afraid she might disappear.

It's time to discover the truth. Brynjolf helps his daughter to her feet and with his arm protectively around her they face the woman. She's nodding her head and mumbling quickly that she and her dead husband selected Vika from Honorhall Orphanage ten years ago.

Vika seemed to be remembering more. They followed her as she walked toward the orphanage.

"I couldn't believe they were taking me away. You told me I was safe as long as we didn't acknowledge our kinship. I didn't like having to call you Brynjolf or when you left me alone with those other kids. I wanted my father and I wanted to go home."

She stopped by the railing and pointed to the market square.

"I was so scared that day. Then a man came out of the crowd. Right there and... And, it was you. I thought he was going to save me. I didn't want to leave because...Because my Da was here... and he promised. He promised...You promised... You promised me I could stay if I just stayed quiet."

Then his beautiful strong daughter turned to him, "You told me to forget about you and Riften and I guess I did. Da… my Da, I've come home and I don't care who knows you're my father. They will not stand against us."

"My Vika. My little girl. No wonder I fell so quickly for you. I'd loved you all along."

The silent crowd parted and Ingun approached the pair with a confused look on her face. "Bryn? What's going on? You're cry... Why?" Then she noticed Sabrinda. "Bryn, this is the girl! This is the girl I told you about!"

"Hello, Ingun. I found all those plants for you. I'll get them."

"You see, Bryn? I told you she was a kind hearted girl."

"Aye, she is, lass. Just like her mother. I should have known. I should never doubt a mother could recognize her own daughter."

"Sabrinda, what is he talking about?" Ingun turned to Sabrinda in complete confusion.

Then it was all so very obvious. The red hair the blue eyes, the cheekbones, the straight and confident stance. The delicate long fingered hands. Standing alongside her mother, there was no doubt of her parentage.

"Don't call me that, Ingun. Call me by my Nordic name. The name you gave me."

"Vika?" Ingun stepped forward and helped Vika pull her blouse together over her shoulders and tied the bows. When she finished, she took the younger woman's hands in hers and kissed her cheek.

"My little girl has come home? Vika, sixteen years ago I gave birth to a little girl. Brynjolf and I were just children ourselves and we couldn't keep you. We loved each other and we loved you. After you were born, Nura helped me clean you and wrap you in a soft blanket. When I held you in my arms for the first time I fell in love with the little bundle of blond hair and blue eyes. I never stopped loving you and I'm so sorry we couldn't have given you a better home. Perhaps, in time, you'll let me try and make it up to you?"

A murmur travels through the crowd. They part and Maven Black-Briar strides toward the three of them. Brynjolf signaled Delvin, he nodded and stepped into the shadows toward Mistveil Keep.

"And now you'll pay for your sentimental foolishness Brynjolf. You've really gone soft. I'm disgusted."

Maven turned on her daughter. "Did you really think I didn't know where you were or what was going on? Now that you've had your little family reunion. We'll start doing things my way again. As for this Dragonborn. I've wanted to add new blood to the family for a while now. She's smart and strong and we'll put her to use. Marry her to someone important."

"You kept me drugged, Mother. For ten years, you kept me drugged! You told me my little girl was dead. I hate you!"

"I don't need your love and I don't care if you hate me, but I will have your respect."

"Maven Black-Briar!" Came a shout from the stone staircase leading to Mistveil Keep. You will stand in respect for your Jarl."

The crowd turned in unison and watched as Riften's Jarl Laila, Law-Giver and her retinue walked down the steps of Mistveil Keep.

"Jarl, you honor us with your presence. I'm glad you brought a few guards with you, because it is time to arrest these criminals and clean out the Warrens of the vermin who live there,"

Maven replied arrogantly, assuming she was still in control.

To Maven's surprise the Jarl ignored her and approached Vika and and her father. "How is business, Brynjolf?"

"Going very well, my Jarl."

"We hear good things about the Guild these days. Your reputation is improving and so are Riften's coffers. And, you must be so proud of your daughter."

"Aye, Ma'am. That I am."

The Jarl surveyed the crowd. "It is time. Are you ready, Brynjolf?"

Brynjolf nods his answer. During the time they've been talking the Thieves Guild gathered in the market square. He escorted Vika and Ingun to them and join their ranks. When the Jarl has everyone's attention she begins to speak.

"Maven Black-Briar, come forward."

Maven strides confidently to the Jarl's side and glares at the crowd. At a nod from the Jarl, three guards take position around Maven.

"Maven Black-Briar, it has long been known to us that you've schemed and lied against our court. Until a few months ago we had not the means to stop you. Then Brynjolf did a brave thing and took us into his confidence. Since that time the Thieves Guild has bettered itself by assisting people and merchants in need. Their acts have increased both Riften's profits and our reputation in the Rift and Skyrim.

Therefore, we grant amnesty to Brynjolf and the members of the Thieves Guild, and we hope, she glanced meaningfully at the men, they will continue to do so. While you, Maven Black-Briar have continued your blackmail and extortion across The Rift. On this day, you are stripped of your holdings, money and property. You will be held in the Riften jail until your trial.

We further order, in light of today's happenings that today is a day of festival and merry making." She raised her hands and people from the Keep wheeled trays of food and kegs into the Market Square. Musicians tune up their instruments. This is truly a day of wonders and I wish you continued good fortune."

"Da? Who does this amulet belong to?" Vika asked suddenly.

"Look at the back, my daughter." He knows what's there, because he engraved it himself with the tip of an old iron dagger. On the back of the Amulet Mara is a heart and inside are two crudely shaped letters "B" and "I".

"Will you give it back to her now, Da?"

Brynjolf accepts the amulet and places it inside his shirt. Taking Vika's arm he threads it through his and walks her away from the crowd. When they have some privacy, he stops and frames her face with his hands, "I'm sorry, lass. I'm sorry I lost you. If you'll forgive me...let me make it up to you. Just tell me what you need."

"I need nothing more than to get to know my real parents. Spend time with them, talk about things, enjoy meals together. Can we do that, Da?"

"It will be my pleasure, lass. Now, I have a question for you," he tilts his head toward hers conspiratorially, "What do you think about becoming the head of the Thieves Guild?"

* * *

 

"Ani L'Dodi, v'Dodi Li" Hebrew. King Solomon, Song of Songs, 6:3. Translation, "I am My Beloved's, and My Beloved is Mine"


	13. Epilogue

POV: Brynjolf

* * *

 

The early morning sounds of water lapping against the dock and water birds calling and screeching as they hunt for their breakfast wake me. I yawned and stretched, which yielded a grin as I notice the small weight against my back. My tawny woman must have gotten cold during the night and sought my warmth by curling against me. This is a new experience for me. The gentle curling of her arms and legs around me when we sleep. Waking to affection and acceptance is a sensation I will never grow accustomed to.

Rolling over on my back I gather her up in my arms and she snuggles even closer. Her hair spreads over my bare chest and she stretches her arms across around me.

There's still work to be done, but I take this moment of peace to reflect on what's to come. Vika showed me the axe Ulfric commanded her to present to the Jarl of Whiterun. I'm not sure I approve of the look I see in Vika's eyes when she speaks of Ulfric. I may not have been a father for long, but I know it would do never do to show my disapproval, so I hold my tongue.

There's more war to come. What it will bring to Riften we cannot predict, but our small town council has discussed the possible outcomes and feel prepared for whatever this conflict may bring. There's food and weapons stocked. The city wall is repaired and fortified.

I take pride in the good things the Thieves Guild has accomplished. There's even talk of moving the entire guild out to Goldenglow estate. I'm not sure how Delvin will fair in fresh air and comfortable surroundings, but he deserves a better home than the Rat Warrens. To see him live out his days in comfort would please me.

Below in the cellar, where Vika has made a place for herself, I hear her singing as she sharpens her sword with a whetstone. She has water on for tea, I can smell the herbs brewing. It's a joy to watch Ingun and Vika work on their potions together. A man goes through life tough and strong and may never understand what he's missing until his heart knows the power of a woman's love or the joy of a child.

A tear slips down the side of my face and into my ear. Bah! I've grown soft and and scrub it away.

I turn my face toward the woman who shares my bed and my hearth. She sleeps without fear now, and I listen to the perfect peace of her steady breathing. I remember to thank Talos for my many blessings. I have my daughter back and my Ingun sleeps next to me each night.

Then my golden-eyed Ingun awakens, smiling and spreading her fingers over me, smoothing over the scars. The tips of her fingers ghost over the firm muscles of my abdomen. Muscles which were merely tools of my trade, until a woman's hand finds them pleasing to touch.

My body responds to her, her smile and her sleepy kisses. She told me she has a few years to catch up on and who am I say her nay? I turn gratefully into her open arms and allow her to lead me to her pleasure. You know how I love a sassy woman.


End file.
